


Psychology

by wicked3659



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Multi, Plug and Play Sex, Psychological Trauma, Smut, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex, Tactile Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 59,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked3659/pseuds/wicked3659
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and Cybertron has entered a new Golden age of peace and prosperity. </p><p>Prowl survived the shuttle incident and became a Psychologist to help those who hadn't survived the war unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Therapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pl2363](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pl2363/gifts), [eerian_sadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/gifts), [pjlover666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/gifts).



> Based after the end of season 3 generation 1.  
> Interfacing is seen as a casual past time for many. Including tactile, plug and play and sticky.  
> Spark sharing is reserved for bonded pairs or couples planning to bond.
> 
> Written as a response to a kink meme request.  
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=12916480t12916480

 

The mech shuddered and let out a strangled moan as the white hands moved expertly over his frame. He arched with a low cry of release, fingers curling into the soft padding beneath him. Sagging back against the plush cushion he gazed up at the mech giving him a small, proud smile. “Thank you… thank you so much…” he declared in earnest, fingers grasping at the mech’s pearlescent white armour, tugging him into a firm kiss.

 

The white mech mewled slightly in surprise but didn’t resist. When the kiss broke he gently extricated himself from his hold and offered his hand. “There is a recovery area if you’d like to take a while to centre yourself.”

 

The green mech shook his helm and pushed up to his feet, grasping the offered white hand and holding it tightly. “You have changed my life, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

The white mech smiled and ducked his helm in modesty. “It is not necessary, Hook,” he placed his other hand over the top of the former Decepticon medic, “though Smokescreen tells me he does expect an invitation to your bonding ceremony.”

 

Hook beamed and shook the mech’s hand more vigorously. “Consider it done, both yourself, Prowl and Smokescreen are always welcome. If there’s anything you ever need?”

 

“Thank you,” Prowl nodded his helm politely in farewell and guided the exuberant mech to the door. “You have my best wishes, have a wonderful life.”

 

“I will now thanks to you,” Hook declared giving Prowl a wave as he practically bounced from the building.

 

Prowl smiled after him and felt Smokescreen’s presence before he heard him. “Your invitation is pending,” he glanced back at his fellow Praxian with a dry smirk.

 

Smokescreen chuckled and patted Prowl’s back. “Another satisfied customer, huh?”

 

“Evidently,” Prowl answered, disappearing back into his office, leaving the door ajar in open invitation.

 

Smokescreen stepped inside and looked around the simple office. Prowl had never been one for flashy decor even before the incident on the shuttle. “I’ve been thinking, you know considering how well the practise is going…” he trailed off pondering over his words.

 

“You’ve been thinking?” Prowl prodded gently.

 

“Of making you a partner,” the yellow and blue mech stated with a smile, gauging Prowl’s reaction.

 

White doorwings flicked up in surprise and Prowl regarded his long time friend and mentor with bright optics. “Partner?” He repeated incredulously. “But I’ve only been a practising psychologist for half a vorn.”

 

“Doesn’t matter, you’re good. You’re one of the best I’ve seen and your reputation already precedes you,” Smokescreen replied. “The offer is on the table, you don’t have to make a decision yet,” he gave his former commander a smile. “As always it’s just good to know I have you on my side.”

 

“You flatter me,” Prowl stated dryly, “don’t think your charming persuasive techniques will work on me.” He smirked at the mech who laughed cheerfully.

 

“Never could get anything past you,” Smokescreen rapped his knuckles on the desk before turning to leave. “Just think about it?”

 

“I will,” Prowl inclined his helm with a subtle smile.

 

“Oh!” Smokescreen paused at the door to Prowl’s office. “I had to do an assessment of a potential case from the courts. The enforcers believe therapy is the best course or they’re going to lock the mech up and they’d really rather not do that, given who it is.” He hesitated, not knowing if Prowl would remember even if he told him, it was usually better to let him discover these things out for himself. “I recommended you after speaking with him, the mech in question doesn’t know yet, you’re scheduled to meet him next cycle. He’s going to be difficult and he’s only your second criminal case so if you need a hand let me know. The file is on your desk.”

 

Prowl picked up the data file and perused it quietly for a moment, raising an optic ridge at the list of infractions and arrests, most for violent assault and disruptive, aggressive behaviour in a public place. The mech had been in and out of the stockades since the end of the war. It had been a fast and painful fall from grace for the mech. “Jazz? The war hero?”

 

Smokescreen nodded. “The very same. I know him from way back and he knows of you and who you were… we all served together under Optimus…” Smokescreen met Prowl’s searching gaze, wondering if the mech remembered any of his time as Optimus Prime’s second in command, part of him hoped not, Prowl had deserved a fresh start. Jazz however had not been quite so fortunate, “I have no doubt you’ll be able to handle it.”

 

He left Prowl with a confident smile that had the psychologist frowning. Smokescreen had been a good friend to him during and after his recovery in the latter stages of the war but sometimes he was infuriatingly vague about aspects of his past. Venting air in resignation, Prowl closed the file.He would continue reading it after he’d finished work and adequately prepare for the following cycle when he would see Jazz, a meeting which, he suspected, would not be occurring for the first time.

 

****

 

Prowl had had a few more patients that cycle after Smokescreen’s visit, so he hadn’t really had time to think about the file on his desk. His next patient was someone he knew well and owed a lot of his current life to. First Aid had been one of his first clients when he’d become a registered psychologist. Mostly the mech just wanted to discuss his issues with intimacy but as he’d grown more comfortable, Prowl had encouraged him to face his anxieties more and more. Some sessions were more productive than others but on the whole First Aid was improving. Prowl enjoyed the sessions with the medic. He could almost call him a friend, though he was always careful to keep their time in his office strictly professional. First Aid had told him that was the reason he’d come to Prowl in the first place. His stoicism and non-judgemental demeanour coupled with his ability to empathise with them was why a great many of his clients trusted him.

 

The medic had known him before he had been nearly killed on the shuttle, and he’d been the one to operate on him as Ratchet, having been on that same shuttle had deactivated the instant Starscream had shot him. First Aid had gone above and beyond to retain as much of Prowl’s personality and memories as he could, and had worked tirelessly in his research to be able to remove the destroyed battle computer without causing too much further damage. He had even followed up with him regularly when Prowl was in the recovery stages and relearning all the basic functions like talking and walking. Prowl hadn’t the spark to refuse the request to be his psychologist, despite the initial professional concerns he had over there being a conflict of interests when First Aid applied to be his client, but the medic had been quite insistent. He trusted Prowl, who he used to be and who he was now, and that meant more than professional experience and credentials after his name.

 

The patient after First Aid was a great deal more difficult. Formerly a Decepticon, the mech was surly and bad tempered and forced to have therapy by the courts. He had warmed up to Prowl somewhat over the sessions they’d had, but Prowl had to be very careful in his approach.

 

With all his cases there was a degree of risk. Especially in the ones that opted for the full therapeutic program which involved more interactive methods. Some of his patients had been lewd enough to call Prowl a high class prostitute when in truth it was nothing of the sort. While interfacing on Cybertron was a fairly casual affair, with hard line connections, tactile play and the exchange of mech fluid using their spikes and valves that were commonplace and not considered overly intimate, Prowl didn’t indulge anyone who turned up to his sessions thinking they were just in for a frag and he always ensured that he never overloaded during a session.

 

Each session was geared towards the patient’s needs and the interactive methods were specifically designed to allow mechs to face and address their anxieties, fears and issues in a safe environment. Every client Prowl met had unique issues and required a unique, respectful approach. Above all Prowl respected his patients, no matter whether they were rude or aggressive towards him, he maintained impartiality and professionalism at all times. It was indeed why he had become so popular so fast. His methods got results and he handled every case with the utmost discretion.

 

The mech he was currently engaging with had a reputation for attacking his previous therapists. Prowl had still accepted the case and despite a couple of tense moments he had not yet wound the mech up enough to make him want to attack him. Axer had been a bounty hunter and tracker during the war and had slipped back into his old ways when the war had ended, resulting in his arrest. He was currently serving a sentence for grievous bodily harm and attempted forced interfacing on a mech he had been tracking for a bid and usually turned up with an armed enforcer, who was always forced - quite reluctantly and with much grumbling at Smokescreen - to wait outside by Prowl. Axer had been both surprised and grateful for the demonstration of trust and had slowly opened up to Prowl. It had taken a few groons to even get to the root of his issues and it had been Axer who had finally been comfortable asking for the therapy sessions to progress.

 

This was the first of two sessions he did with Axer in a groon and it was always Prowl’s last case of the cycle. He had to consciously maintain his guard and not relax too much. He had made that mistake during a previous session with Axer and had ended up pinned against the wall of his office. Prowl’s ability to think fast in high pressured situations had not been lost despite his injuries, of which he had been very glad of in those circumstances. The relationship with Axer had since warmed and they were currently trialing the tactile therapy, to help Axer overcome his paranoia and trust issues.

The mech overloaded with a holler and sagged onto the berth, intakes panting. He pouted at Prowl who was, as ever, composed and in control. “You didn’t overload,” Axer stated tersely.

 

Prowl raised an optic ridge as he jotted down some notes, giving Axer chance to recover. “As I informed you last time, Axer, my needs aren’t important here. Achieving overload for myself would not be beneficial to you and would be a waste of your time,” he inclined his helm at the mech with a small smile and offered his hand to help him stand. “I need you to reflect on what we’ve discussed this session and let me worry about everything else, alright?”

 

Axer pulled a face but gave Prowl a gruff nod as he accepted his hand. “Wouldn’t be a total waste,” the mech smirked slyly. “Bet overload looks good on you.”

 

Prowl shook his helm with an amused smile and guided Axer towards the exit. “I am not a gambling mech,” he commented lightly, keeping Axer’s focus away from him. “Your biggest concern is you. Parole is coming up soon and I will be recommending that it be granted given your improvement thus far.” Prowl smiled as the mech’s optics brightened.

 

“Really? Frag! Parole would be a great consolation prize for not getting to work my magic on you,” Axer answered, his grin spreading across his face.

 

“Well after your therapy is complete there will be plenty more suitable mechs you can ‘work your magic on’,” Prowl replied dryly, opening the door.

 

Axer snerked at their banter and gave the waiting enforcer a curt nod, his smile fading as the stasis cuffs were locked over his wrists and ankles.

 

Prowl watched them depart, ignoring the disdain from the enforcer who undoubtedly knew of Prowl’s history - most enforcers did - and considered his current work beneath him. Closing his office for the end of the cycle, Prowl picked up the datapad containing his newest case file and left. He never bothered to say goodnight to Smokescreen, the mech always left early, which suited Prowl fine. After a cycle of multiple therapy sessions he wasn’t really into interacting that much socially. Smokescreen always happily told him some things never changed and left him to it. Prowl was grateful and headed for the transport to take him back to his home on the outskirts of New Praxus.  

 

****

 

His first stop before going home was always a quaint little cafe that served the nicest goodies and ener-tea. He usually sat in there after work and perused his notes of the day, organising his schedule and preparing for new cases. He didn’t like to take the work home with him. It was his safe place and he liked to keep it apart from his work. Smokescreen had a personal assistant who carried out all the menial tasks for him but Prowl had refused to hire one. The planning and organising was a way to help him de-stress.

 

Smiling and nodding at the mech behind the counter, who immediately began to prepare his usual, Prowl headed for his usual spot. He always sat beside the small crystal garden set up behind the cafe. It was pleasant and soothing and away from the bustle of the highway. Plus he enjoyed just gazing at the crystals on some cycles. They reminded him of the old Praxus. They were nowhere near as big though as the destroyed crystals had had to be carefully removed to allow new ones to grow during the rebuild of the devastated city. It would take hundreds of vorns before the newly cultivated crystal gardens were even close to the grandeur and beauty of the originals but they filled Prowl with a pleasant nostalgia.

 

Accepting the plate of goodies and pot of ener-tea with a nod and a gracious smile, Prowl turned on his data file. Jazz’s file was one of the largest he’d had to read during his time as a psychologist. It contained all of the mech’s medical history, something which Prowl needed if he was to be able to do his job adequately.

 

Jazz’s primary medic had been Ratchet during the war, something which Prowl had in common with him. Ratchet had attached several notes to Jazz’s medical reports. Incidents of self repair, self hacking, virus damage, self inflicted virus damage, interfacing damage. Prowl highlighted the last one and opened the relevant files. Jazz had been a special operations agent for Prime, he had known that. What he hadn’t known was the degree to which Jazz had been forced to go undercover, possibly even as a result of orders he himself had given. Some of the damage and trauma Jazz had suffered as a result was extensive and yet the mech had simply carried on.

 

Prowl frowned thoughtfully as he made notes. Trust and paranoia issues were noted by Ratchet to varying degrees throughout Jazz’s history. Towards the end of the file, Prowl realised that there was next to nothing in the way of usable information. It was as though Jazz had stopped being a special ops agent - unlikely - or had stopped turning up for his regular checkups.

 

After the war there were only notes from the court medics. Jazz had been forced to undergo medical check ups and psychological evaluations each time he’d been arrested. Each medic had declared Jazz to be suffering from a major personality disorder, signs of depression and psychotic tendencies with recommendation to place him in a mental institution under a suicide watch. Jazz had always, somehow, avoided being placed anywhere and had vanished again for a while, showing up in neither medical databases or enforcer surveillance. The mech never seemed to stay in one place for very long.

 

Placing the file on the table, Prowl vented air softly through his vents. He had been so caught up in learning all he could about Jazz, he had lost track of time. Jazz was an extreme case and he wasn’t entirely certain he was the right mech to be carrying out his therapy and rehabilitation. Before he could accept the case, he would need to meet with Jazz in person, assess him for himself.

 

Although he was grateful for Smokescreen’s confidence in him, if he did not have confidence in his ability to help Jazz, there would be no point for him to take the case. He would only do more harm than good.

 

Decision made, Prowl booked an appointment with the Iaconian enforcers, where Jazz was currently being held and finished his, now cold, ener-tea. He rescheduled all his appointments for the next cycle and booked a transport to Iacon. He couldn’t help the flutter of nervous anticipation in his spark at the thought of returning to Iacon. A place he hadn’t been to since he had been discharged from the hospital following his recovery. Iacon held a lot of memories for him, some of which didn’t seem like his own anymore. It almost felt like he was intruding into the life of the Prowl he had once been. Pushing the anxiety to the back of his processor, Prowl headed home. He would need a decent recharge before he met Jazz.

 


	2. Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // ... // = communication /transmission

//Hey, Prowl! How’s the trip going?//

 

//The transport has been smooth so far. Everything alright in the office? I apologise for the short notice.//

 

//It’s alright// Smokescreen laughed. //Why do you need to meet with Jazz anyway?//

 

Prowl sighed, he had known this question would be raised. //I am not questioning your judgement, Smokescreen but I need to meet the mech myself to be able to make an assessment of whether I can carry out his therapy.//

 

//...You’re having doubts again? Come on, Prowl we talked about this. You’re good. Very good. Could be the best one cycle. Stop doubting yourself.//

 

Offlining his optics a moment, Prowl exhaled softly. //My own insecurities aside, Jazz is an extreme case and I’m not sure I have the necessary skills to help him. That’s why this meeting is important. I do appreciate your faith in me though.//

 

//Even if you don’t take me seriously// Smokescreen chuckled. //Well on a side note, you better take two cycles.//

 

Prowl’s doorwings rose slightly on his back. //Why?//

 

//You have an appointment...//

 

//With who?// Prowl was immediately suspicious of Smokescreen’s vague answers.

 

//Optimus.//

 

//Smokescreen, I thought we talked about this!//

 

//We did but he really wants to meet you and he was Prime, technically he still is, how could I say no?//

 

//Easily. No.//

 

//Prowl please…?// Smokescreen pleaded quietly. //He just wants to see you again. You were once his friend as well as his second in command...//

 

//I’m not the same mech he knew, you know this.// Prowl protested sternly.

 

//He’s asked for you personally, Prowl. It’ll be good for the practise and for mechs we served with to see you, meet you, see that you’re different.//

 

Prowl pressed his lips together into a thin line, clenching his denta in annoyance. //I get the feeling I don’t really have a choice. When and where?//

 

//Iacon palace, as soon as you arrive. Your appointment with Jazz has been pushed back to next cycle. There’ll be an escort waiting for you. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.//

 

Sighing, Prowl shook his helm. Smokescreen still sometimes struggled with the fact Prowl wasn’t his superior anymore. It was more often than not amusing but at times like this, it was frustrating. //Don’t apologise, you did what you felt you had to do. I’ll be fine by the time I return. See you in a couple of cycles, Smokescreen.//

 

He cut the comm before the mech could reply and peered out of the window at the approaching city. He had held off meeting with Optimus since his recovery, out of the fear that it would be beyond awkward. The mech was his former commander and according to Smokescreen, his friend but Prowl only recalled bits and pieces of him. The rest he got from the historical archives and most of what he’d read also involved him. Now he saw the mech as a Prime, not a friend and although he could understand Optimus’ need to see him again, Prowl did not share the sentiment.

 

Weaving through the traffic, the transport pulled up to the palace’s private dock and Prowl disembarked. He was greeted by two mechs, one red, one golden who looked at him strangely as he gave them a polite nod. They walked either side of him and kept shooting confused glances at one another. “What, no sarcastic comments or put downs, Sir? After all these vorns?” The red mech spoke up with a lopsided grin.

 

Prowl stared at him blankly for a klik. “I’m sorry?”

 

The golden mech spoke up next. “You can’t have forgotten about us already, Sir. We made a point to irritate the slag out of you every chance we got. All in good fun though, we know you liked us really,” the golden mech gently tweaked the corner of the nearest doorwing.

 

Prowl stopped in his tracks, doorwings flicking out of reach and he frowned at the two mechs. “Please don’t do that,” he commanded firmly. “Now as confusing as this may seem, I am the Prowl you knew and yet I am not. I only vaguely recognise your faces but I’m afraid I do not know who you are.”

 

The mechs looked shocked and saddened by Prowl’s declaration and shared a solemn glance. “The shuttle attack, right?” The red mech asked somberly.

 

Prowl nodded. A lot of mechs died that cycle and he by rights should have been one of them. He had had to attend his own therapy sessions in order to overcome his survivor’s guilt, something which still sometimes plagued him.

 

“We heard you died, can’t tell you how glad we were when First Aid told us you hadn’t,” the golden mech spoke up. “I’m Sunstreaker, this is my brother Sideswipe. We’re Prime’s official body guards.”

 

Offering him a grateful smile for the formal introduction, Prowl’s doorwings lowered slightly. “Well please call me Prowl, not Sir. I am not your commander any longer.”

 

The twins grinned at that, “Sure thing, Prowl and if I may say so, the white with the midnight blue looks good on you,” Sunstreaker commented.

 

Prowl raised an optic ridge, “I may not be your superior but don’t think I’ll be so easily seduced just because you’re good looking and charming.”

 

Sideswipe laughed at his brother’s expression and clapped a hand on Prowl’s shoulder. “Doesn’t matter who you were, or who you are now, you’re still our Prowl,” he leaned in closer with a sly grin, “but he’s right, you do look good.”

 

The twins took Prowl to a sedate room, chatting cheerfully along the way about how they had known him and stories of pranks they got up to, which Prowl had foiled. They swung open the large doors and directed him inside. “It was really great to see you again, Prowl,” Sideswipe said as they headed back to their post by the door.

 

“Yeah maybe when we have down time we can come visit New Praxus and you can show us all those fancy crystals you always loved,” Sunstreaker added.

 

Prowl inclined his helm with a small smile. “I would like that and I’m sure Smokescreen would appreciate seeing old friends.”

 

The twins left him alone. Prowl had enjoyed hearing about their escapades and interactions with him during the war. They hadn’t mentioned anyone they had mutually known that had deactivated and stayed away from talking about the shuttle attack, for which he was grateful. Alone, waiting for Optimus however, he felt his anxiety growing once more.

 

“Prowl?”

 

The voice prompted Prowl to turn around and he bowed his helm respectfully at the large red and blue mech approaching him. “Prime.”

 

Optimus smiled and placed both hands on his shoulders, prompting Prowl to look up at him. “It’s just Optimus, old friend.”

 

Prowl gave him a curt nod, not really sure what to say to a mech that was revered as the saviour of Cybertron and the bringer of the golden age they were now enjoying. He allowed the mech to direct him to the nearby chair and refreshments and sat opposite the larger mech who smiled warmly at him.

 

“It is very good to see you again, it’s been a long time,” Optimus started, pouring out some mid-grade energon for them both.

 

Prowl knew exactly how long it had been. He remembered the order and the protest that was shot down. He had no resentment, it was another life, another mech. Accepting the offered cube graciously, Prowl decided to get straight to the point. “Why is it you wished to see me, Optimus?”

 

“Straight to the point, as always,” Optimus chuckled. “I mostly wanted to see how you were, how you’ve recovered. I hear you’re a psychologist now? Working with Smokescreen?”

 

Prowl nodded. “I am, it has been a steep learning curve but I find the work very enjoyable and satisfying.”

 

“That’s good,” Optimus regarded him curiously. “I never would have pictured you as a therapist for troubled mechs.”

 

Prowl glanced down into his cube for a klik. “I am not the mech you once knew, Optimus,” he explained solemnly. “The majority of my processor had to be stripped away when my battle computer was removed. First Aid saved what he could and it has been reintegrated over time but,” he looked up meeting Optimus’ gaze, “the mech who served as your second in command is only a small part of who I am now.”

 

Optimus ducked his helm and smiled sheepishly. “I suppose you hear that a lot.”

 

“Not as often as you’d think,” Prowl returned his smile. “Smokescreen enjoys letting me know when aspects of my former self start to surface, the Prowl I was and the Prowl I am now are two distinctly different mechs it seems.”

 

“You were a good mech,” Optimus stated softly. “A good friend.”

 

“I still am a good mech, Optimus,” Prowl responded gently. “The core personality programming remained mostly intact. My loyalties and passions and apparently my temperament are quite similar to how they used to be,” he smiled.

 

“Doesn’t sound like much has changed,” Optimus raised an optic ridge at the smaller mech.

 

“I smile more and I can no longer perform a tactical analysis consisting of multiple variables, faster than a supercomputer. Although I would still complete it quicker than most,” Prowl replied dryly, prompting Optimus to laugh brightly.

 

“Glad to see your sharp wit hasn’t dulled any,” Optimus took a sip of his cube and fell quiet for a moment.

 

"Optimus," Prowl began in his gentlest tone, understanding that the loss of a friend would be hard.

 

"Prowl, I want to thank you for coming to see me today," Optimus interrupted. "While you may see yourself as a different mech, I still see you as my friend. You are not as different from him as you think," he smiled at the astonished expression on Prowl's face, something he honestly had never seen  on him before. "This is not a bad thing and it gives me confidence that Jazz's treatment will be the best he can get."

 

"Jazz?" Prowl frowned. "My case, he's also your friend?"

 

Optimus nodded, expression turning grim. "After the shuttle, he became belligerent and I had to pull him to one side, get him to focus. Then I died and from what I can gather from those that knew him, he continued on a downward spiral," lowering his optics, Optimus sighed. "He refuses to speak to me now. Tells me I'm not the mech he called friend. His paranoia is worse than I've ever seen it and I want the best help for him."

 

"Optimus I'm not sure I'm the be--"

 

"--you're perfect. He won't trust a complete stranger. Ever. But he knows you."

 

"He knows who I was," Prowl corrected calmly.

 

"Which is why I believe you will be able to help him. Why I want you to help him."

 

"You cannot order me if I do not think myself suitable. The needs of the client come first," Prowl declared firmly, his gaze unwavering from Optimus'.

 

"I would never..." Optimus cut himself off with a sigh. "Prowl he's a good mech. A deeply troubled and hurting good mech and I feel responsible."

 

Looking down at his lap, Prowl dimmed his optics. "From my research, I was the one who gave the majority of the orders for special ops. That was the purpose of them so if things went wrong you wouldn't be incriminated."

 

Optimus looked at him sharply. "You cannot claim responsibility you don't remember, you nearly deactivated, you're not the same mech," he insisted.

 

Leaning over Prowl placed a hand on Optimus’s arm. "And you did deactivate," he stated softly. "While this doesn't absolve either of us of our responsibilities for the orders we gave, it is a chance to heal," he gave Optimus a small reassuring smile. "This is not a time for blame this is a time for positive action. Jazz will receive the best possible care, whether or not it is from myself. I will make sure of it. To help him you need only continue being as you've always been. His friend. He will need you before his treatment is through, I can assure you of that."

 

Optimus nodded and met Prowl's optics with a grateful smile. "I have missed you and your sage advice, my old friend."

 

"New friendships are formed every cycle, Optimus. Perhaps this is one of them," he smiled warmly at the larger mech as Optimus's optics brightened at his words. "Now I really must be going, I have a lot to prepare before I meet Jazz next cycle."

 

"Of course," Optimus stood with Prowl and grasped his shoulders. Giving them a fond squeeze, he nodded. "The twins will show you out, if you need anything please contact me."

 

Prowl nodded and stored the comm frequency Optimus pinged over to him. The doors opened and he gave Optimus a subtle bow before heading towards the waiting twins.

 

"Intense right?" Sideswipe discreetly spoke up.

 

Prowl simply have him a knowing look and his doorwings twitched in agreement. "Indeed."

 

Sunstreaker snickered as they fell into step either side of their former commander. "Yeah, he has that effect."

 

****

 

Jazz had to reset his visor to make sure he wasn’t seeing things when his would-be therapist was brought to his cell. The enforcers were polite but he could tell they recognised the mech too. True to form, the mech in question was oblivious to their comments and behaviour. “Thought you died,” he murmured to himself as the mech approached. The frame and face were the same, the black had been replaced with a dark midnight blue and the police/enforcer logos had been removed but it was still the same mech. The stern gaze of his optics was just as cold as it always had been, Jazz noted when the mech looked his way. Yet something was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He watched the mech greet the enforcer captain and the mech chatted amicably with him before sharing something amusing that Jazz couldn’t quite catch and the Praxian laughed.

 

He laughed!

 

Jazz’s optics brightened behind his visor. In all the vorns he’d known the mech, served with the mech, he’d never once heard him laugh. Chuckle subtly when he thought nobody was paying attention, sure but laugh? Never. He sat on the berth in his cell and waited. Prowl was undoubtedly alive - even though Jazz was certain reports had declared that there had been no survivors from the shuttle - apparently a psychologist now and he laughed! Something wasn’t right about this picture and Jazz decided he was going to get to the bottom of it.

 

“This is Jazz,” the enforcer captain explained as he brought Prowl over to the cells. “I’m not sure why they bothered requesting you, he’s been in and out of here so many times, he’s virtually a lost cause,” the captain threw Jazz a dark look.

 

Prowl watched the interaction shrewdly and remained impassive at the enforcer’s obvious disdain for Jazz. “Is Jazz dangerous?”

 

“No, he’s a flight risk though.”

 

Prowl canted his helm at the captain. “He has already been charged and processed, has he not?”

 

“Yes, but we wanted to keep him secure. He’s never shown up to his psych appointments before and this is his last chance. He breaches this time, he’s locked up for good or de-fragged,” the captain explained confidently.

 

“Hm, release him to my custody please,” Prowl commanded.

 

The enforcer captain faltered a moment. “I don’t think that’s wise. You should do his assessment in his cell. You haven’t even confirmed if you’re going to take his case.”

 

“Jazz,” Prowl turned to the mech lounging casually in his cell. “I am Prowl. It has been requested that I give you a full psychoanalytical assessment, with the intention of submitting you to frequent therapy sessions until such time as you are no longer regarded as a threat to the general public,” he glanced minutely at the enforcer beside him who snickered in disbelief. “Do you accept this condition of your bail or would you rather undergo compulsory de-fragmentation and rehabilitation into society at a position of the government’s choosing?”

 

The mech still had a knack for cutting straight to the point like a laser guided scalpel. A grin spread slowly across Jazz’s face and he pushed up to stand face to face with Prowl, despite the Praxian being a head taller than him. He met Prowl’s expectant gaze steadily and looked him up and down slowly, obviously. His manner had the enforcer captain growling subtly in his chest. Prowl himself didn’t flinch and simply waited patiently for a response. Same old Prowl, Jazz thought to himself. “I know who you are,” he drawled, “and how could any mech refuse such a tantalising offer?”

 

Prowl gave him a curt nod and turned back to the enforcer. “Release him into my custody please. Is there a room available where I can carry out my assessment?”

 

The captain nodded grudgingly and deactivated the cell barrier. He pointed at a corridor straight ahead. “Second door on your left, I’ll get one of the juniors to sit in with you.”

 

“That will not be necessary,” Prowl replied politely. “Thank you for your time,” he looked at Jazz and gestured towards the room. “After you, Jazz.”

 

Jazz smirked and strolled past the bristling enforcer captain, his visor blinking with a cheeky wink. “Like a junior could have handled me,” he snorted, continuing on his way to the aforementioned room with Prowl before the captain could give into his urge to shoot him in the face.

 

****

 

“He doesn’t like you,” Prowl commented lightly as he placed a couple of datapads on the desk in the room and took a seat.

 

“Few do,” Jazz replied, scrutinising the mech opposite him. “Who the frag are you?” he asked suddenly.

 

Prowl glanced up and canted his helm curiously at Jazz. “I’ve already told you, I’m Prowl.”

 

“Prowl I knew died on a shuttle right before Unicron attacked, with most of my friends,” Jazz answered, slowly sitting in the second chair and folding his arms over his chest.

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prowl replied gently, meeting Jazz’s sharp glare.

“Like slag!” Jazz responded. “You’re him but you’re not. Who are you?”

 

Venting air softly, Prowl clasped his hands before him patiently. “I am that same mech. I was nearly killed on that very shuttle but I was repaired.”

 

Jazz frowned. “Why have I never heard of this? Who repaired you?”

 

“First Aid and likely because you’ve spent the last two vorns in a narcotic induced stupor, exacerbated by abuse of high grade. It is a wonder your systems haven’t fried.”

 

“Not through lack of trying,” Jazz muttered, loathed to have the attention turned back onto him so expertly. The mech was definitely Prowl. If the information was there to find, he would find it and slap him in the face with it repeatedly.

 

Prowl hummed thoughtfully and took down a few notes. “What do you want to get out of this, Jazz?” He asked easily after a few quiet moments.

 

Jazz’s visor flickered in surprise. No one had asked him that before. “Not my choice to be here, remember,” he shrugged. “Don’t want nothin’ from nobody.”

 

“I see and is that through a lack of trust or learned experiences?”

 

Snorting Jazz shook his helm. “You tell me, mech, you’re the processor wizz.”

 

Prowl nodded and took down a few more notes. Jazz scowled at the lack of reaction from him. He wasn’t ignoring him but he wasn’t engaging him either. Just listening, watching. It was unnerving. Not that he was going to admit that anytime soon. “Just a few more questions then we can wrap this up,” Prowl declared with a small smile. “Do you wish to deactivate?”

 

That threw Jazz in for a spin. He was straight to the point so quickly it almost hurt. “Who in the war hasn’t thought about that?”

 

“That is not what I asked,” Prowl stated mildly. “Let me rephrase. Do you get recurring thoughts of ending your own life?”

 

Pressing his mouth into a tight line, Jazz held Prowl’s steady gaze. He wanted to laugh in his face and punch it while he was.

 

At Jazz’s ensuing silence, Prowl nodded and made more notes. Jazz had had enough and swiped the datapad from Prowl and hurled it against the wall before sitting back in his chair and folding his arms again as though nothing had changed.

 

Optics brightening a fraction, Prowl looked at the shattered data pad and back at Jazz with something akin to amusement. “Bluestreak will be disappointed that I cannot attend his sparkling’s naming ceremony due to the destruction of the invitation,” he stated lightly.

 

“What?” Jazz grunted in sudden confusion.

 

“The datapad, it was an invitation that I needed to respond to. I was writing my reply when you threw it against the wall, I have unfortunately not saved a copy,” he explained, gathering up the rest of his datapads.

 

“You weren’t making notes?”

 

“Why would I do that?” Prowl asked nonplussed as he stood.

 

“Your job?” Jazz replied getting increasingly confused.

 

“Jazz you have expressed no wish to change or to accept my help. You have no regard as to what you want to get out of having therapy sessions with me and so I will recommend to the enforcer captain that you are to be remanded for incarceration and potential de-fragmentation.”

 

“Wait, what?” Jazz was out of his seat and blocking Prowl’s exit with a scowl. “You can’t do that!”

 

“I can and I will. What did you think my assessment was for?” Prowl replied with sympathy in his voice. “I’m sorry, Jazz but you have proven yourself a threat to society and show no willingness to rehabilitate. I have no choice.” He made to move past Jazz only for the slightly smaller mech to grab his arm, his grip tight, firm, unyielding..

 

“Those mechs I put in stasis… they touched me when I didn’t ask to be touched,” he stated, glaring at the opposite wall. “I’m not out of control no matter what those glitches waiting behind the door think,” he looked up at Prowl. “You really think you can help?”

 

“I do,” Prowl replied confidently.

 

“I accept your offer, if only because I’d love to see you try,” Jazz smirked darkly and let his arm go, stalking his way back to the table and sitting down heavily. He hated talking about his problems but he hated the thought of de-fragmentation even more. Becoming somebody else, a puppet to be controlled by the government, put into menial work, living a meaningless existence. It was a fate worse than death in his optics.

 

Prowl smiled, partially in relief and nodded. “I’ll inform the captain to make arrangements for your transfer to New Praxus immediately. I’ll be in touch with your schedule,” he didn’t expect a response from the mech but was glad that he would at least try to be helped. Prowl was under no delusion that it was going to be easy though, it was going to be a long and bumpy road before he likely even saw any progress but he had to try.

  
Jazz glared darkly at the table, his fingers digging into his plating as thoughts whirled around in his processor. He’d just been played like a musical instrument. Expertly played by none other than Prowl. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, that he’d accepted therapy or that it had been Prowl that had cleverly talked him into it.


	3. Session

“He finally returns,” Smokescreen grinned as he stood in Prowl’s office doorway. “How was the trip?”

“You know very well how,” Prowl replied with a quirk of an optic ridge as he sat down behind his desk.

Smokescreen gave him a shrug and strolled into the office, to sit in the chair opposite. “Yeah, but I want to hear it from you,” he grinned innocently.

"Optimus is, what's the word Sideswipe used," Prowl frowned thoughtfully for a moment, "yes, intense," he gave Smokescreen a pointed look. "But you already knew that."

"Yeah, I'd apologise but--"

"--but you're not really sorry," Prowl finished.

Smokescreen's grin widened. "It's good for you to meet mechs who have known you, whether or not you want to admit it. I don't want you to become a shut in. All you do now is work," he continued.

"I appreciate your concern," Prowl sighed softly before giving him a wry smile. "But a little more warning next time would be nice."

"You got it!" Smokescreen declared with a smile. Leaning closer he canted his helm curiously at Prowl. "So you got friendly with the twins, huh?"

Prowl's optics brightened and he stared at Smokescreen. "How did you..." He sat back in his seat with a loud ex vent of air. "Do I have you to blame for that too?"

Holding up his hands in surrender, Smokescreen laughed. "That was all them. They did call to tell me how much fun they had though," he added with a sly smirk.

"Did they?" Prowl raised an optic ridge, tone dry.

"They wouldn't elaborate, pretty vague really so I thought you'd fill me in?"

Prowl held Smokescreen's expectant gaze before his mouth curved ever so slightly in a smirk. "you thought wrong," he replied lightly. "Now, I have a patient," he gestured to the door with one hand, his amusement growing at Smokescreen's ensuing pout and huff.

"Alright, spoil sport," he groused lightly. Pausing at the door he turned back. "What about the case. Did you take it?"

"He'll be showing up for his first session later this cycle," Prowl stated. "Did you know that Optimus was paying for all of his treatment?"

Smokescreen flicked his doorwings. "I thought he might just... don't mention it to Jazz."

"Noted."

"And Prowl?"

Prowl met Smokescreen's serious gaze with a tilt of his helm.

"Good luck. I think you're going to need it. If he even shows up."

****

The next patient was a regular case. Issues of paranoia and anxiety rising from a bad experience that he could never talk about. His attempted suicide had put a stop to his silence though and Prowl had taken on the responsibility of his care. It was the one case, Smokescreen hadn’t been happy about Prowl accepting, especially so soon after becoming qualified but Prowl had been insistent. His stubbornness, according to Smokescreen, had not dwindled any despite all he’d been through. This was something that Prowl took as a compliment.

His next patient entered as silent as always and took the usual seat. Prowl looked up and nodded respectfully, gathering a datapad to take notes. Taking his seat just to the side of his patient, he very lightly touched the larger mech’s arm, his hand resting just above the wrist. “How has the last groon been for you, Soundwave?” He started casually, noting the mech’s stiffness at the contact but not his usual withdrawal.

“Response: Adequate,” came the curt reply. Prowl didn’t expect much more in the way of conversation from Soundwave and had never pushed the mech.

“And have you worked on what we discussed last session?”

“Affirmative. Results: questionable,” Soundwave gave Prowl a sidelong glance, his visored face unreadable to the uninitiated.

Prowl smirked at the faint rebuke and his doorwings perked up as he felt a tingling across his energy field as Soundwave reached out probing feelers. “Now I know you remember what we discussed about probing other mechs’ fields and processors without their permission, correct?” His field calmed instantly as Soundwave withdrew.

“Correct,” Soundwave replied a little less tersely than before as he stared straight ahead. “Request: Prowl will grant permission for access?”

Knowing that Soundwave needed the contact as much as he had to learn control and restraint, Prowl gave him a nod. “Granted, passive scan only,” he stated firmly.

“Understood,” Soundwave responded. His demeanour barely changed as he probed the surface of Prowl’s processor, detecting his feelings of concern, professionalism and his trepidation at being scanned. That was nothing new and it gave him a small comfort that Prowl had always allowed him to see his intentions and plans for the session as well as just that little bit extra of his personal life. You had to trust to earn trust he’d told Soundwave. Soundwave had disagreed, had thought Prowl naive and gullible but he had found himself trusting the mech more, much to his surprise, when Prowl allowed him to see that little bit extra.

Feeling the tension fading slightly from Soundwave, Prowl smiled. “Better?”

“Affirmative. Query: hardline stimulation planned for current session?”

“No. You’re not scheduled to start that stage of treatment yet,” Prowl answered.

“Statement: Desired.”

Prowl’s optics brightened at that. “I see and would a certain symbiote have something to do with this change of spark?”

Soundwave let air escape from his vents with a soft hiss, almost akin to a resigned sigh. “Ravage: persuasive and logical in his arguments. Symbiotes cannot function well detached from their master for excessive periods. Surrogate: insufficient.”

“The question remains though, do you feel ready to move onto that step. If we push forward too soon, you could still suffer from panic,” Prowl explained gently, his hand remaining on Soundwave’s arm. The contact of simply placing a hand on Soundwave’s arm had taken groons to happen and Prowl hadn’t even broached tactile stimulation yet. Moving straight to a hardline connection was risky. He didn’t want to cause Soundwave to relapse.

After the loss of Rumble and Frenzy following a brutal attack and physical assault, Soundwave had been stricken. His carrier coding had become corrupted and his other symbiotes had been detached and placed with a surrogate carrier for their own safety, following an attempted suicide. His anxiety and paranoia was well founded but Prowl knew that reconnecting with his symbiotes was vital to his treatment. Building him up to that sort of intimate, constant contact though had been a long and arduous journey, riddled with pitfalls.

“Statement: Unsure,” Soundwave replied quietly, visor dimming slightly.

Prowl knew the mech took it as a personal failure that he felt too much anxiety and panic to be able to establish a reconnection with his surviving symbiotes but he didn’t want to discourage him too much. “Well how about we go ahead with what I had planned and Ravage can be impatient a while longer, hm?”

Soundwave straightened and met Prowl’s steady gaze. “Scenario: preferred.”

Prowl smiled and nodded. He wrote a few notes down before subspacing his datapad and got to his feet. “Let’s move over to the private area, shall we?” He gestured to a partitioned part of his office.

Soundwave looked hesitant for a klik before nodding and heading over to the private area. When Prowl joined him, he stiffened and looked at him sharply. “Requirement: full explanation of technique and reasoning for use.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Prowl replied mildly. “First step is for you to initiate contact.”

Tilting his helm questioningly as Prowl stood in front of him, Soundwave waited for a further explanation. He did appreciate that Prowl was always very thorough and made sure he understood exactly why they were doing something and what the benefits were.

“The first thing that must be relearned when it comes to any form of intimacy is that trust is mutual,” Prowl continued. “You have my permission to touch me. Interface panel is forbidden and when I say stop you stop, understood?”

Soundwave gave Prowl a curt nod.

“When you’re feeling more comfortable, the tactile stimulation is then reciprocated. You decide on what level, intensity and to what end. The same rules apply,” Prowl stated. “Are you ready?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied but hesitated as he lifted a hand. “Query: doorwings?”

Prowl ducked his helm with a small smile. It was very common for his patients to want to touch his doorwings. Mentally he deadened the sensors to their lowest level, it wouldn’t do to lose control during a session. It was one of the reasons he never overloaded with a patient. “You may touch them,” he answered.

Soundwave stepped to the side of Prowl and hesitantly raised his hand, his fingertips brushing tentatively over the smooth surface. He watched with sharp optics as Prowl inhaled slowly, his doorwings fluttering ever so slightly. Tracing over the seams where midnight blue met white, Soundwave became a little more bolder. Splaying his hand over the metal surface, he caressed the nearest appendage and his visor flickered as Prowl hummed softly in response. Moving behind the smaller mech, he copied his movements on the second doorwing and began caressing both simultaneously, causing Prowl to arch into him a little.

Doorwings were fascinating to Soundwave, he knew wings generally were sensitive but for grounders he’d never understood the logic of keeping such an obvious liability. That was until Laserbeak had explained how the extra sensory data was integrated into their neural net and without it, it would be like losing sight or sound. With the right control a mech with wings, even a grounder, was a much more difficult opponent to take down in a fight. Pressing closer he rubbed his thumbs over the joints of the doorwings where they joined Prowl’s back and his visor brightened considerably when a low whine escaped Prowl.

He wanted to withdraw his hands, felt like he’d crossed a line but then again a large part of him didn’t. His intakes hitched as he fought the urge to push this further, to take full control.

“It’s as much about restraint as it is control, Soundwave,” Prowl spoke up, breaking the silence of his office.

Soundwave stared at the back of Prowl’s helm in surprise as the mech seemingly read his mind. Though he knew that wasn’t possible. He withdrew as Prowl turned around to face him.

“Trust is about allowing the other individual to take some of that control away,” he stepped closer and lifted his hand. “May I?”

Sensor net tingling, Soundwave nodded tersely and tensed as Prowl lightly brushed his hand over his chest, his voice as calm and steady as it ever was.

“Reciprocation is also very important in building the trust during intimacy,” Prowl explained, his fingers tracing along seams in his armour, taking his time to explore his frame thoroughly, reverently. It felt… good, natural and despite himself, Soundwave found himself relaxing as he focused on the sound of Prowl’s voice and the feeling of his gentle touches dancing over his frame. “Tactile stimulation, is also a form of comfort,” Prowl’s caresses changed to something soothing, soft and Soundwave purred.

Looking up at the sound, Prowl smiled. Soundwave’s visor was dim, his hands were relaxed instead of clenched, this was good progress for the mech and Prowl didn’t want to push him beyond it right now. Given what he’d been through too much stimulation would overwhelm him and cause a setback. Running his fingers along the underside of Soundwave’s chest, Prowl slowly pulled back. “I think that’ll be enough for today,” he took out his datapad. “How do you feel?”

Soundwave exhaled slowly. “Conclusion: satisfactory,” he stated softly.

Prowl nodded. “I’ll take that as a positive,” writing down a few notes, he transferred prescribed instructions to the mech. “Now before next session, I want you to meet with your symbiotes and engage in tactile contact. Doesn’t have to be anything extreme, don’t push yourself or them,” he instructed. “Soothing contact, affection. You’ve made good progress today,” he offered Soundwave a smile and the mech simply nodded in response.

“Next session: same time,” Soundwave declared before marching to the door. Halting momentarily, Soundwave half glanced back over his shoulder at Prowl. “Statement: thank you.”

Prowl was too stunned to reply before Soundwave left. The former decepticon command officer had never thanked him before. It was moments like those that made his job worthwhile.

****

Jazz entered the building with all the curiosity of a sparkling. He hadn’t been to Praxus since the war had taken it from them and New Praxus had been built over the ruins of the old city. This had been one of the first buildings to be erected and it even sported a large shard of crystal that had been all that was left from the famous crystal gardens. It was dedicated to the citizens who had died when Praxus had fallen. Jazz shook his helm. It wouldn’t be enough. Nothing was enough.

Following his instructions he made his way to the top floor. The glass elevator looked out over the city as it climbed higher. The view was breathtaking. There were plenty of places to get lost in, in New Praxus, Jazz thought to himself. He didn’t see himself sticking around for long, no matter what Prowl said. Truth of the matter was, he was only there to indulge his insatiable curiosity about his former commander and to avoid a defrag. He would have to be much more careful in future and not get caught. That, or get better at deactivating himself.

The doors opened just as he spied a familiar figure disappearing into an adjacent elevator. He bristled, managing to suppress an antagonistic hiss as their visors met just before the doors slid shut. By all rights he should kill Prowl for colluding with Decepticons. Jazz didn’t care if the factions no longer officially existed. He knew better. Once a ‘con, always a ‘con.

Marching towards the office number he’d been given, Jazz stomped into the office without knocking, without waiting to be invited and was greeted by two pairs of surprised optics staring back at him.

“Jazz?”

He stopped in his tracks. “Smokes’?” Jazz laughed. “Smokescreen, you fragger, is that really you?!”

The two mechs met in the middle of Prowl’s office and grasped each other’s hands in fond greeting. “The one and only,” Smokescreen replied cheerfully. “Been a long time, Jazz,” he added wistfully.

“It sure has, mech, too long. Looks like you’ve been keeping busy though,” Jazz smirked as he pulled away and looked around the office. “When did you get out of the gambling business?”

Smokescreen let out a nervous laugh and glanced over his shoulder to spot Prowl’s raised optic ridge. “Ah well, had to grow up, become respectable I guess,” he chuckled. “I’ve had some help though,” he added more soberly. “And having Prowl around sort of keeps you on the straight and narrow,” he feigned a whisper as he grinned at Jazz.

Prowl huffed and flicked his doorwings just once but didn’t comment.

Jazz hummed thoughtfully as he watched the exchange. “Glad you landed on your feet, Smokes’. We should catch up sometime, you know, when I’m not a threat to society,” his visor glinted mischievously and for a klik, Smokescreen almost caught a glimpse of the old Jazz. Almost.

“Definitely, mech, can count on it and,” he placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder as he took his leave, “you’ve always been a threat to society,” he chuckled and gave a nod to Prowl before leaving.

Jazz watched him leave before turning to the other mech in the room whose sharp optics were focused on him intently. Forcing himself to relax, having not realised just how tense he’d become at Smokescreen’s friendly but close contact, Jazz flounced over to a free chair and made himself at home, his feet swinging up onto the table. “What? Never seen two mechs interact without a shrink before?”

Prowl frowned in confusion. “Shrink?”

“Ah… human term… for what you do,” Jazz explained. The Prowl he knew would’ve known that, even if he had been a shut in. “So what’s the deal here? I talk about all my woes and you analyse them?”

Prowl canted his helm curiously at him. “That is an archaic method of performing therapy. If we were a strictly oral species then maybe just talking would help you but in your case we will require something more substantial.”

“In my case, huh?” Jazz folded his arms, optics roaming over Prowl as he stood and rounded his desk. He focused on the midnight blue in place of black and the tiny spots of detailing, that had once identified him as an enforcer, that were no longer there. “And what case is that exactly?”

Prowl perched casually on the edge of his desk - a position Prowl would never have normally sat in, too informal, Jazz noted - and regarded Jazz with keen optics. “Jazz, before we begin your sessions, I must make one thing perfectly clear. In this office I have an open disclosure policy. This means that--”

“--I know what it means, Prowl,” Jazz stopped him, holding up a hand. “Basically if I want to know something, I’ve got to tell you something. Kinda low tactics don’t you think?”

Prowl gave a subtle shrug and folded his arms. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Jazz, certainly not anything too personal if it makes you feel uncomfortable but I do appreciate honesty. If you’re not going to be honest then there’s no point in your being here.”

Jazz sighed and pulled a face. “You always did drive a hard bargain,” he muttered. “Got one hell of a poker face too, maybe you should’ve taken over old’ Smokes’ in the gambling biz,” he grinned up at Prowl’s pointed look.

“I think not.”

“Heh, some things don’t change.”

“You wanted to know about your case?”

Jazz ducked his helm and smirked. “Yeah, what’s it going to cost me?”

Prowl took out a datapad. “Explain how Smokescreen touching your shoulder and leaning in close to you, made you feel?”

His smile vanished instantly and his visor pinned on Prowl’s perfectly professional gaze. “Never used to get anything passed you either,” he muttered.

“Then hopefully you’ll prefer straightforward questions. If at any point you do feel uncomfortable, please tell me and we can take a break,” Prowl explained, moving to another seat just to the side of Jazz, remaining in his peripheral vision.

The office filled with Jazz’s ensuing silence that seemed to permeate every corner of the room like smoke. Prowl was patient though. He had at times had patients who sat in his office and said nothing for the whole session. They’d either requested that Prowl talk or had preferred the silent company. Soundwave had been one such patient in the beginning.

“I don’t like mechs getting in my personal space,” Jazz declared after what seemed like an age of silence. “Makes it harder to suppress the urge to remove their helm from their body.”

“That’s an extreme reaction,” Prowl commented lightly. “This is a compulsion you get even with mechs you know, like Smokescreen?”

Jazz shrugged. “I’m not the doc, can’t explain it. That’s your job,” he answered, meeting Prowl’s gaze.

Humming thoughtfully as he jotted down some notes with his stylus - he preferred handwriting when writing case notes - Prowl paused for a moment. “Can you remember how long you’ve felt this way?”

Huffing a short, humourless laugh, Jazz shook his helm. “Nah, mech… just who I am, you know, just like you always had a rod situated firmly up your aft, I didn’t and don’t like being touched or my space being invaded,” he threw Prowl a glance, looking for a reaction to his vague insult and frowned when Prowl merely waited for him to continue without even a flick of a doorwing. “Not abnormal for a spec’ ops mech,” he added with finality, already bored of talking about it.

“Understandably,” Prowl replied. “Your case is an extreme one,” he placed his datapad in his lap and sat back in his chair as he answered Jazz’s earlier question. “From what I’ve observed just this cycle, you suffer from paranoia, trust issues and general fear of bodily contact, possibly claustrophobia or maybe even haphephobia.”

“I’m not afraid!” Jazz countered sharply.

Prowl regarded him coolly. “This is fronted by aggression and a defensive attitude when the obvious is pointed out,” he finished steadily. “Just because you’re more than capable of handling, I expect, pretty much anyone you come into contact with, doesn’t mean that your aggression towards them isn’t fuelled by fear. Most aggressive tendencies have a root in fear or lack of understanding, which again causes fear.”

“I just don’t like it, mech, nothing wrong with liking your own space,” Jazz argued sullenly.

“There is when it results in potential decapitation,” Prowl returned gently.

“Not happened yet.”

“‘Yet’ being the operative word in that sentence.”

“Look mech, what do you want from me?” He shot up to standing and began to prowl about the room like a caged cyber-cat. “I was trained for infiltration, sabotage and subterfuge. Making friends wasn’t in my job description. I am a killer and I clean up messes for other mechs who don’t want to get their hands dirty,” he punctuated his last statement with an accusing glare at Prowl. “So what if I prefer to stay out of contact with mechs for their benefit? It’s just good sense.”

“You were,” came the soft reply.

“What?”

“You were a killer, were special ops, you’re not anymore. War has ended,” he stated firmly, his optics not wavering from Jazz’s face.

“I know that,” the black and white mech snapped, sitting in his chair stiffly.

“You spoke in the present tense,” Prowl explained softly.

“You’re analysing how I talk now?”

Regarding him quizzically, Prowl tilted his helm. “Of course, I would be negligent in my duties if I didn’t.”

Jazz froze and stared at him before suddenly laughing. “Now that there sounds just like the Prowl I know!”

“Knew,” Prowl stated simply, looking down at his datapad.

Jazz frowned at the response. “Yeah, alright…” he replied. “We done?”

“For this session, yes,” Prowl gave Jazz a datapad. “This is what I want you to work on before your next session.”

“Hey I didn’t sign up for homework,” Jazz quipped, accepting the offered datapad anyway.

“I want to ask you one question before you leave and I want you to think about it before next session and try to give me an answer next time you see me,” Prowl said as he finished off his notes.

Jazz looked at him expectantly. He had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like the question.

“If you intentionally avoid contact with mechs ‘for their benefit’, why is it you were arrested for grievous bodily harm, no less than thirty two times? All of which several witnesses, most of whom were innocent bystanders, said occurred in fights you started, in brawls you provoked. Mechs who otherwise would have gone about their business having never known you had even crossed their path before you made the decision to attack them. Several of whom ended up in stasis.”

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Jazz levelled a dark look at Prowl. “Why do you think?”

“I think you go looking for a fight whenever you get bored, just to prove you can still handle any mech that crosses your path,” Prowl answered evenly.

Jazz snorted a laugh and chucked the datapad onto Prowl’s desk, uncaring as it slid off the smooth surface and onto the floor, while he marched towards the door. “Prowl I knew would’ve known the answer to that particular question,” Jazz shouted back, intending his statement to sting, only to be met with pale blue optics regarding him curiously when he looked back.

“From what I know, the Prowl you knew would never have cared enough to ask.”

Jazz frowned, unsettled by just how true that statement rang in his spark.


	4. Overstep

Smokescreen looked up at the quiet knock on his door. “Prowl?” he waved the mech in, putting his datapads to one side. “You look worried, something happen with Jazz?” he frowned in concern.

“Not as such,” Prowl replied sitting opposite the other mech. “I do have questions though, that I believe I’m going to need answers to if I am to deliver an adequate standard of care for Jazz.”

“Alright,” Smokescreen smiled, glad that Prowl felt he could come to him now. It hadn’t always been the case following Prowl’s recovery. “What’s it about?”

Prowl met his gaze with a rare look of trepidation. “Me.”

Now that was a surprise. “You?” Smokescreen confirmed with bright optics. At Prowl’s nod, he sat back in his chair with a soft whistle. “You’ve always said you didn’t need to know when I’ve tried to talk about the past.”

Prowl nodded and vented air in a sigh. “It seems like now I do,” he gave Smokescreen a resigned look. “Will you help me?”

“Of course! But… I’m probably going to need help too,” he answered, unsure if Prowl would accept what he had in mind.

“How so?”

“There are other mechs who knew you better and if you want a more detailed picture of the mech you were, we’re going to need to talk to them too.”

Doorwings dropping on his back slightly, Prowl pulled a reluctant face. “What do you propose?”

****

Prowl held back in dismay as they approached Smokescreen’s apartment. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this,” he threw his friend a reprising glance and Smokescreen just shook his helm and smiled reassuringly.

“Prowl, you need to trust me just a little bit here, okay? This is what I do for a living,” he explained. “Come on, your friends are waiting.”

Pouting slightly, Prowl reluctantly followed. “I wasn’t aware that I… that he… had any friends.”

“Then you’ll be surprised,” Smokescreen replied cheerfully, palming the door scanner for entry into his apartment block. “There was a lot more to you than you let most mechs see.”

“Not me,” Prowl started. He clamped his mouth shut as Smokescreen whirled around to face him.

“That stops now. Memories or not, you are him, he is you, you are and will always be that same Prowl, that’s the first step.”

“Smokescreen I--”

“--Prowl,” the yellow and blue mech took hold of Prowl’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You came to me, remember?” He smiled. “Let me help.”

Optics dimming a fraction, Prowl gave him a terse, if reluctant nod and followed his friend inside the building. Trepidation swirling around in his spark. If he’d known that accepting Jazz as his patient would have involved him seeking this sort of help, he just might have reconsidered his decision. A tiny twinge in his spark that answered these hesitant thoughts, disagreed.

****

“Prowl! Smokescreen!” Bluestreak as ever was cheerful and he thrust a cube of mid-grade into both mechs’ hands. “We were beginning to think you’d backed out,” he gave Prowl a fond grin.

“I was persuaded otherwise,” Prowl replied amicably.

“Well are you coming in or not? We’re still waiting for the big fella,” Sideswipe called out from the main living area.

Prowl shot Smokescreen a sharp, questioning look.

Smokescreen caught it and gave him an amused shake of his helm. “They knew you better than you or anyone else for that matter thought they did,” he explained. “They want to help.”

“I thought we were keeping this to a minimum, close friends only?” Prowl responded with slight agitation.

Smokescreen flicked his doorwings in faint admonishment at Prowl’s reluctance and defensive attitude. “Believe it or not, a mech in your position barely considered anyone a friend and that wasn’t always your choice. The mechs in there, the ones I’ve invited were the ones who had the most contact with you so yeah, they’re about as close as it got to friends with you,” he placed a hand on Prowl’s shoulder. “And as soon as I brought it up, they jumped at the chance to be here, to help you. You did more for us Autobots than you know or can remember, just because you’ve heard bad things and weren’t very popular, doesn’t mean that a few of us didn’t genuinely care about you,” he waited patiently for Prowl to soak up his words. “Ready?”

“Nervous,” Prowl replied honestly.

Smokescreen laughed and guided him into the living area. “That is completely normal, try not to worry.”

“Who is the ‘big fella’?” Prowl asked with a confused frown.

“Optimus.”

“What?” Prowl exclaimed.

Catching his arm before he could fully retreat out of the room, Smokescreen gently but firmly pulled him back. “Everything will become clear, I promise, relax.”

“Relaxing, apparently, was not one of my fortes,” Prowl answered dryly.

“That’s the spirit,” Smokescreen replied with a grin.

****

The following groon came around quickly and Prowl now had a new found appreciation for the mech he’d been, despite his initial discomfort. It put him in a much better position to help Jazz and a number of his other patients for that matter. One of which was Soundwave who this time had reported making good progress with his symbiotes and requested that their sessions move onto the next step.

To do this right, Prowl had pushed back his appointments in order to give them enough time and to make sure Soundwave didn’t feel any pressure. He began with the same tactile stimulation first and took it slowly, simultaneously relaxing Soundwave and preparing him for a stronger hardline connection he needed for his symbiotes.

Instructing Soundwave to lie on the prepared berth on his side, Prowl lay beside him, his hands continually roaming over the larger mech’s blue frame, his field undulating against the former ‘con’s, keeping him in constant, though enjoyable, stimulation. It was less soothing this time though and delivered with more intent. Prowl wanted to make sure Soundwave was fully prepared before he accessed his port.

Baring his own port, Prowl met Soundwave’s unreadable gaze, fixed on his face. “Connect to me,” he instructed gently.

Soundwave’s visor flickered with hesitation but he unfurled his data cable slowly, guiding it towards Prowl’s port, his hands beginning to tremble. “Anxiety levels: increasing,” he stated, hating how raw his voice sounded, how shaky and vulnerable. How could he protect his remaining symbiotes if he was afraid all the time? He started to withdraw only to find Prowl’s hand had curled loosely about his own. His yellow visor met intense azure optics focused solely on him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, you are in control,” he was reassuring, his voice calm, even.

Soundwave didn’t resist and allowed Prowl to guide the tip of his data cable to the entrance of his port, he felt a thumb rub over the connector, sending a zip of electric rippling through his sensor net. His intakes stalled as Prowl made the connection and his sensor net came alive. The sensation of being physically connected to another was unlike anything else. Even spark sharing. Soundwave felt himself entering Prowl’s systems and he sent a data packet testing the connection, a wave of satisfaction washing over him when Prowl inhaled at the input of data.

Naturally Soundwave pushed against the initial firewall and when it gave way, he suspected that this was somehow a secondary system that Prowl had especially to carry out his job. No mech could connect with so many without overloading and still remain sane if he hadn’t built in safeguards to protect his main systems. Soundwave found that that precaution eased his apprehension even more. A mech that was cautious, careful was one to be relied upon. Prowl had no intention of allowing him a deeper connection and that was just fine with him. This was after all, his treatment, his therapy. Soundwave felt his respect for Prowl grow. The mech was the epitome of professional.

Prowl let out a soft moan as Soundwave pushed deeper into his systems. Even though he didn’t overload during his sessions, it didn’t mean that the sensations weren’t pleasurable. Part of the therapy for some was knowing they could indeed give pleasure to others but Prowl was always explicit about his policy of not overloading. Most understood his reasoning and those who didn’t, found another practitioner.

Steadying himself and focusing on Soundwave, Prowl met his gaze. “Are you ready?”

“Systems: optimised for connection. Proceed.”

Prowl nodded, that was as close as Soundwave got to a straightforward yes. Curling out his own interface data cable, he guided it to Soundwave’s exposed port and gently pushed the connector in place. The cable locked with a soft click and instantly the data stream was completed. Moving his hands over Soundwave’s armour, Prowl strategically stroked sensitive seams in order to calm Soundwave’s now tense frame. “Relax, you have control,” he repeated. “I follow your lead.”

Soundwave gave him a terse nod of understanding and began to send small data packets across their connection, inhaling sharply when Prowl sent his own in response. He matched his pace and size exactly, not pushing for more nor forcing more upon him.

They continued that way for some time, mutual stimulation, slowly building upon the sensations, increasing the feedback until they were trembling with electrical surges rippling through them. Soundwave felt his control fraying, he wanted more, needed more, it had been so very long since he’d connected with another. He could feel the tell tale tinglings of overload at the edges of his sensor net and he greedily wanted that feeling again.

Prowl felt the data feedback intensifying and he braced himself for what he knew was coming, putting the appropriate blocks in place. He was almost too late as Soundwave’s data input suddenly flooded their hardline connection, data streaming almost constantly into his systems to an almost overwhelming level. Soundwave was close. Prowl heard his own keen before suddenly his world spun and he found himself pinned against the larger mech, Soundwave’s arms wrapped tightly about him, trapping him as he let out a long low moan of release. His energy field flared against Prowl’s, the data stream burst into Prowl with enough force to make him gasp as it slammed into his blocks and firewalls before it stuttered and faded to a trickle of what it was and Soundwave fell limp against Prowl, his intakes whirring, his visor offline.

His own frame considerably heated and tingly, Prowl took the next few moments to steady his systems. Soundwave was in light stasis, he would recover soon, in the meantime, Prowl had to get himself and his body under control. That had been intense. Almost too intense. He should’ve factored in Soundwave’s natural connective ability and that he had been used to four individuals being connected to him simultaneously. It had been negligent of him, arrogant. He would not make the same mistake again.

Soundwave came online and frowned slightly as he found himself wrapped around Prowl’s smaller frame, embracing him tightly, pressing him flush to his body. It was comforting but he was also concerned that something had gone wrong. “Prowl: unhurt?”

Offering him a small smile, Prowl nodded. “How do you feel?”

Carefully extricating himself and hissing as his cable disconnected automatically when Prowl’s did, Soundwave let out a soft sigh. “Observation: anxiety dissipated.”

“That’s a good sign,” Prowl replied, pushing himself up to sitting and making sure all his ports were closed. “It’s only the first step though, not a miracle cure,” he glanced over at Soundwave. “We will address your other causes of anxiety next session. I don’t expect it to have disappeared completely. In future sessions, you may want to include your symbiotes, to restore healthy connections with them, this is something you will all need to do together,” he explained. “I will be present the whole time. For now, I want you to go home and continue the tactile affection and comfort you’ve been doing with them, build up your comfort levels.”

“Understood,” Soundwave stated, getting up off the berth and nodding curtly to Prowl before taking his leave.

Sinking into his chair with a sigh, Prowl pinched his nasal bridge and took out an energon cube. He needed some energon before he faced his next patient. Jazz was an observant mech and it would not do to have his energy field flaring with unspent excess energy. His own release would have to wait.

****

“I hope you’re having a good cycle, Jazz,” Prowl greeted the mech cordially.

Jazz grunted and practically threw himself into the offered chair unceremoniously. “Like you actually give two slags,” he returned bitterly, visor meeting blue, mildly concerned optics.

“I take it then that it hasn’t been the best,” Prowl replied, unfazed by Jazz’s obvious bad mood. He sat in his usual seat and took out his datapad and stylus. “Want to talk about it?”

“Why I’m here, right?”

“Not exactly.”

Jazz huffed air through his vents loudly. “Oh yeah… I forgot, you’re supposed to get to the root of my anger, right? Find out my issues with contact and intimacy and make me all better,” Jazz leaned forward and grinned. “We can just cut all that slag out and go straight to a good hard ‘facin’ if you’re up for it,” he suggested.

Prowl acknowledged him with a slight twitch of an optic ridge and jotted down a couple of notes before he responded. “You know the rules, Jazz.”

“Frag the rules, you followed the rules enough, how about bending them a little and letting me bend you over your desk?” Jazz’s grin grew wider and his visor glinted mischievously as he quite obviously looked Prowl up and down appraisingly. “Always did wonder what you’d be like in the berth.”

“Jazz, if I did indulge your impulsive tryst, breaking the rules in that instance would likely result in my limbs being removed or even certain key energon lines being eviscerated with bare hands, quite possibly both, dependent on just how much you'd decided I’d offended you by finding you remotely attractive,” Prowl stated patiently.

Grin fading, Jazz’s visor flickered and darkened slightly and he sat back in his chair and folded his arms. The mech cut right down to the quick. He should’ve known that Prowl would’ve lost none of his ruthlessness. “Looks like you’d rather talk about that, so shoot… I’m all audios,” he retorted bluntly.

Prowl canted his helm at him serenely. “It’s not your audios I’m interested in. I’m not the one who needs to do the talking.”

Jazz was getting tired of this. He wondered how long it was going to take for the charade to drop and for Prowl’s real, icy cold self to show up. “Nothin’ to talk about.”

“Alright,” Prowl nodded. “Then how about we go over your service history, hm? We can discuss certain aspects of that, some of which I do have questions on. I believe the answers to which will be quite relevant.”

“I’m sure you do,” came the terse reply.

“I’ll start at the beginning then, unless you object?”

“Objectin’ never got me anywhere before, don’t see it startin’ to now,” Jazz was sullen, annoyed and not looking forward to dredging through the minefield of his Autobot service record. Too many ugly memories that Prowl was undoubtedly going to needle him about. He didn’t have to say anything though. Silence was his best weapon, it always had been, especially against the likes of Prowl. Unfortunately the mech had the advantage of patience over him. That was nothing new to Jazz. He just had to make it through this session. He’d made it through worse.

****

Jazz just listened and grunted his acknowledgements as Prowl proceeded to run through his service history. He lingered on a couple of missions that he had the official reports of and asked Jazz a few questions. What had happened? How had he felt? Usual questions psychologists had asked in the past. He wasn’t very forthcoming but he answered every question. Not giving anything away, there was nothing to tell. There was nothing in those mission files that Prowl hadn’t already seen. Mech was the one who had sent him on the majority of the missions and Jazz didn’t believe for a klik that he didn’t remember them.

Bored and tired of answering questions about a past he had no desire to relive, Jazz decided he wanted to end the session early, when Prowl threw another question his way and this time something stirred in Jazz, something he didn’t want waking.

“Did you hear my question?” Prowl repeated when Jazz fell completely silent.

“I heard it,” Jazz replied. “You calling me a liar?”

“Of course not, I was just curious as to why there was a note to follow up on this particular mission report. It’s seemingly straightforward and yet it’s flagged,” Prowl explained.

“Who flagged it?”

“Well, I did,” Prowl replied with a faint frown.

“Figures,” Jazz let out a soft chuckle. “You didn’t follow it up though, mustn’t have been important.”

Humming thoughtfully, Prowl shook his helm. “I believe this was important. It is flagged in the same way I flag my notes when I know a patient isn’t being entirely honest or I feel something has been omitted.”

“Huh… wouldn’t know would I. You never brought it up,” Jazz responded bluntly, hoping that Prowl would just move on and be done with.

“I’m bringing it up now,” Prowl gazed at him steadily. “What was mission, ‘Recon 239’?”

“What it says on the tin, Prowl. Recon,” Jazz replied tersely. He knew the mission. That code name was forever etched into his processor as well as what had gone down during. He did not want to talk about it. Prowl hadn’t known everything then and he hadn’t cared enough to ask. Jazz sure as pit wasn’t going to divulge anything now. It had been a mission. It was over.

“Recon for what? Information? data?” Prowl prodded.

Choosing to stare at a crystal ornament on one of Prowl’s shelves, Jazz shrugged. “Data gathering, undercover. In and out, just like any other infiltration mission. Get the info, get out. Job done.”

Looking down at the datapad, Prowl scrolled through the mission details and hummed thoughtfully. “You were on mission for three and a half groons.”

“So…?”

“Your report is short. Detailing only the data extraction.”

“And? Like I said, nothin’ to report.”

Frowning faintly, Prowl regarded Jazz with a quizzical expression. “Could you describe the mission for me? In detail please?”

Jazz let out a short laugh. “Need to know, Prowl. You know how it is, classified info and all that.”

Prowl ducked his helm at the deflection with a small smile. “Well, as I was the one who sent you on the mission and tactically planned it out for you, I feel it would be prudent that I do that follow up now, don’t you?” He looked up at Jazz, his gaze pinning him to the chair.

Jazz felt he was almost back in Prowl’s old office being debriefed. That steady gaze, those sharp optics picking up what he didn’t want to be seen. Infuriating. Prowl clearly remembered some things, he still had that authoritative air about him at this particular moment.

“Nothin’ to follow up, Prowl. You got the intel, you acted on it. Mission closed.”

“Yes of course.”

“Good, then I’ll be going, places to be,” Jazz got up from his chair and turned for the door.

“Except one thing…” Prowl continued, pausing to get Jazz’s attention.

Jazz stood and clenched his fists in frustration before half turning back to meet Prowl’s gaze.

“The mission was only scheduled to be for one groon. You were undercover for three times that,” Prowl frowned in concern, a clearer picture beginning to emerge. “What went wrong?” He asked softly.

“Don’t go there, Prowl,” Jazz waved his hand and started to walk away. “You don’t want to go there.”

Prowl stood and followed, maintaining a non-threatening distance but remaining close enough that he didn’t have to raise his voice. “I’m asking, Jazz. I’m already there. What happened?”

Jazz whirled around and stomped back up into Prowl’s personal space a finger jabbing him hard in the chest. “I did my mission. I got out, alright?”

“You’re angry,” Prowl pointed out simply.

“You’re fraggin’ right I am,” came the threatening growl. “Somebody keeps pushing my buttons and doesn’t know when to quit.”

“What happened on the mission, Jazz? Why were you undercover for three and a half groons? What did you omit from the report?”

“You’re talking slag, mech and I’m done with slag for one cycle,” Jazz backed off with a shake of his helm. “You never did know when to back off, Prowl, and here I was hoping that was something that had changed.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared now,” Prowl called out sternly. “They can’t hurt you anymore.” Prowl didn’t see it coming. Jazz was still endowed with lightening quick reflexes in spite of how much he got over charged and high and his strikes were still hard and accurate.

The blinding pain that shot through Prowl’s processor as his nasal bridge cracked under the force of the surprise blow was enough to derail him and his optics came online to the view of his ceiling. He was on the floor on his back and Jazz was crouched over him with a thunderous look on his face.

Grabbing him by the collar fairing, gripping him hard enough to dent the metal as he yanked him closer, Jazz growled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he started, his voice low, dangerous. Prowl was pushing the limits of his tolerance. It was time he scared him off. Mechs stopped asking questions when they learned they never really wanted to know the answers. If Prowl really wanted to analyse him, see inside his head; he’d give him something to analyse. It - amongst other memories - had kept Jazz from recharge many a cycle and he was only too glad to return the favour to the mech who had sent him on most of his missions in the first place. Not that Jazz blamed him but he couldn’t deny an element of resentment that lingered in his spark for the stoic, impassive mech. “You do what you got to do when you’re on a mission, you hear me? I did what I had to. I survived. I got the job done. That’s all you ever needed to know.”

“That was then,” came the strained response. “This is now.” Prowl curled his hand about Jazz’s wrist, not pulling him away, just trying to ease the painful grip on his plating. “How did you survive, what couldn’t you tell me then?” he persisted.

Jazz let go and stepped back, expression dark, almost predatory, and Prowl suddenly wondered if that expression had been the last thing seen by many of the former Ops mech's enemies during the war.

“You ever been somebody’s toy, Prowl?”

The mech's tone was dangerously casual, and the doorwinged mech found himself watching Jazz warily as he picked himself off the floor, wiping the energon from his damaged faceplates.

“No, not that I recall,” Prowl replied succinctly, stifling the urge to flinch under Jazz's razor edged focus.

“My cover got blown in the first groon by a mech I was working closely with. Didn’t ask how he knew, didn’t care, just wanted to live. How foolish of me to let him know that,” Jazz began, his tone light, as though he were regaling some anecdote to an old friend. Prowl didn’t buy Jazz’s suddenly relaxed demeanour for an instant but he listened on in silence.

“Instead of going to his boss, he decided to play a game. He asked, I would give, no exceptions and he’d keep my secret. He didn’t care about sides, factions or wars. Mech was a sociopath, he joined the ‘cons because he figured they’d be more open to violent behaviour. He was right, for the most part. Turned out it wasn’t enough.”

Jazz stepped forward into Prowl’s space, driving him back a step. “Mech cornered me. Never let me out of his sight after that. I was his for the taking if I wanted to live. And frag did I want to live, I had a mission to complete, intel to get. Knew lives might depend on it so I did what I had to do for the good of the Autobots, took one for the team. The things we do when we’re young!” Jazz let out a manic laugh. “Beauty of it is, I could have killed him the moment he found out and confronted me and been home free, no intel though, no tactical advantage.”

Prowl couldn’t suppress the wince at the emphasis but he met Jazz’s accusatory glare evenly. He couldn’t change what had happened. He could only try to make it right now.

At Prowl’s silent wince, Jazz’s mouth broke into a wide, almost demented grin. “Killed him in the end though,” he added with a distinct edge of dark satisfaction to his voice. “Right in his own berth. Once I got the intel I was assigned to get. Made sure it hurt too, recorded his screams for posterity. Would you like to hear it, Prowl?” His question was light, playful as though he were asking a sparkling if he wanted an energon goodie.

“That will not be necessary,” Prowl answered quickly, his voice thick.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared now?” Jazz teased, with an unfriendly smirk. Jazz’s expression changed to something more sober as he took a step back. “You didn’t ask then, I suggest you don’t ask now. Did what I had to do, Prowl. I survived.” Jazz stated calmly and marched towards the door, he froze when Prowl called out to him and gripped the edge of the door tightly.

“Maybe surviving isn’t enough anymore,” Prowl grimaced as his door slammed shut with a bang and then he sagged against the edge of his desk. All the tension he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in, drained from him with a heavy ex-vent of air.

****

 


	5. Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As broken as he maybe, Jazz is not devoid of regret. 
> 
> Slightly more lighter chapter now :3  
> Some sticky interfacing this chapter.

Jazz gulped down his energon and shook the empty cube at the bar mech. Watching him fill it up, Jazz grabbed him before he moved onto the next customer. "Just leave the bottle, yeah?" The bar mech gave him a reproachful look but didn't argue, he knew a hopeless case when he saw one. The enforcers could deal with him later if he became any trouble. 

"Do you make a habit of punching your psychologists?" 

Jazz peered up at the mech stood beside him and shrugged. "I didn't hit him that hard. Prowl should have blocked, he knows how to defend himself. Frag, I was expecting to be the one ending up on my aft. Mech's reflexes have gotten dull," he commented, swirling his high grade. 

Smokescreen pulled up the adjacent stool and sat down. "That's the thing, he doesn't know, he's learning and remembers some defensive strategy but he's not the Prowl you seem to think he is," he frowned and pulled away the bottle as Jazz went to pour another cube. "Didn't he tell you?" He carried on, ignoring the dirty look Jazz threw him. 

"Yeah, he mentioned it," Jazz retorted, snatching the bottle back. 

Smokescreen knew better than to push the issue with the high grade and simply grabbed a second cube and thrust it in front of Jazz. "Yet you don't believe him," he declared matter of factly, sipping the high grade once Jazz had filled his cube. 

"It's slag, mech. He might have everyone else fooled but I'm not buying it," Jazz stared ahead, his processor somewhere else. "A mech like Prowl doesn't just forget everything he was, everything he did. It's in there, somewhere."

"Why is it so important to you that it is? Why can't you accept that this is who he is now?"

"Because nobody gets a clean slate!" Jazz snapped, his cube slamming onto the bar, its contents sloshing onto his hand. He turned and pinned a glare onto his old friend. "Nobody. Out of all of us who fought in the war, what makes him so special that he gets a second chance at life?" Jazz scoffed and turned back to his drink. 

Smokescreen’s optics were bright as he stared at Jazz. He wondered when the Jazz he’d known had disappeared to be replaced by this cynical, bitter mech. “That’s what this is about isn’t it?”

“You’re the psycho babbler, you tell me,” Jazz muttered into his cube. 

“Prowl got a second chance. Do you want to know how he got that chance, Jazz?” Smokescreen asked, his irritation growing.

Jazz snorted a laugh and gave him a bored look. “Not really but I’ve no doubt you’re going to tell me.”

“You’re fraggin’ right I am,” Smokescreen frowned at him. “After he was shot on that shuttle, his battle computer fried to his processor. When he finally came out of stasis, First Aid had to tell him that he had to have it removed, or what was left of it or he’d suffer a critical systems failure,” he explained, watching Jazz closely as he brought his cube up to his lip components.

“Sounds straightforward,” came the blaze reply. “Had to go through worse on missions.”

“Really?” Smokescreen bit out. “You ever had to stay online while your memories were erased one by one, Jazz?” 

“What?”

“Yeah, he had to be online for most of the extraction. He knew what was happening and he couldn’t do anything about it as he eventually forgot who he was. Imagine being conscious of losing your mind and sense of self, can you? Would you trade in everything you’ve been through to lose everything you are? All your memories, loved ones--”

Jazz snorted into his cube. “Prowl didn’t have lo--”

“--don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Smokescreen growled softly, his hand grabbing Jazz’s upper arm to get his attention.

Stilling, Jazz glared down at the bar. “Better get that hand off me, mech,” he replied evenly, his voice low, dangerous. 

Smokescreen released his arm and vented a sigh. “I saw what it did to him, I watched him try to keep hold of his memories, of himself. I saw him weep for those he would never remember and then I watched him have to pick himself up from that, remembering that he’d lost everything but not knowing what everything was and have to learn to talk again, learn to walk again,” he paused, looking down at the bar as emotions roiled through him. “Hard work and sheer stubborn determination got him this second chance, Jazz. He should have died more than once and he refused to let go of what he had left,” he looked up at Jazz hoping some of what he was saying was getting through. 

“The mech was a glitch, Smokes’,” Jazz spat out in irritation. “Sent mechs to die because the numbers told him to. Didn’t get attached so he wouldn’t have to feel. What goes around comes around if you ask me.”

“Prowl may have seemed cold to the likes of you and any who couldn’t be bothered to look deeper but to those who knew him, we’d still do anything for him. He held onto every name he’d ordered to their deaths, every detail of every battle, every life lost, names, how they died so they would be remembered once the war was done,” Smokescreen shook his helm and looked away for a klik before continuing. “He held onto it until it was all taken from him. First Aid downloaded what he could at his request before the procedure, even though he was told it would make the degradation of his processor worse but he couldn’t get it all and most of what he did get is corrupted. Fact is, he did care, he still cares. He knows he can’t bring them back or remember them but he can help mechs now.”

Jazz pulled a face and avoided Smokescreen’s intense glare. “Big deal,” he muttered sullenly. 

Smokescreen leaned in closer to Jazz, making sure he would hear him. “We all got a second chance when Optimus came back, not just him. He just had to lose everything he was first. You really been through worse, Jazz? Is that why you’re throwing your second chance down into the pit?” He downed his cube and got to his feet. “Or maybe you know deep down that you’re the one who doesn’t really deserve a second chance.”

Jazz had put mechs on their afts for less but was now feeling too overcharged to be motivated. He remained silent and turned his helm away from Smokescreen. 

“I was hoping to try and reason with you, maybe get you to apologise but it doesn’t matter. You don’t want to be helped,” Smokescreen flicked his doorwings and took one last look at Jazz. “I’m going to make sure Prowl presses charges. You’ll be sent straight to the de-frag clinic. Wish I could say I was sorry but I don’t know you anymore and if somebody doesn’t put you out of your misery, you’ll kill yourself and take who knows how many others down with you.” 

With that he was gone, leaving Jazz to his high grade, which was no longer appealing to him in any way. Smokescreen always had been able to talk the talk, Jazz thought to himself. Once upon a time, so had he.

****

Prowl awoke with a start as his work comm frequency pinged insistently. He always had it open just in case of emergencies. Only one patient had ever tried to contact him outside of hours and that had been an emergency. He frowned as a burst of static greeted his audios making him wince and rubbed his face tiredly. “Hello? Who is this?”

“SsmmProwler…” 

“Prowler? What?” Prowl sat up on his berth, trying to decipher the garbled speech on the other end. 

“Smokesswasrightzz.”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t understand what you’re saying,” he frowned, worried that something was very wrong. “Who is this?”

“Who else!” Came the overly loud reply. “S’Jazz… y’missedme, admit it…” 

“Jazz…? Do you know what time it is? Are you alright?” 

“M’anaft, m’sorryoof!”

Prowl grimaced as he heard a blur of sounds, followed by a yelp. “Jazz? What happened? Where are you?” 

“Locked out…” Jazz started to laugh hysterically over the comm. “Look...m’sorry…” 

Prowl listened intently as Jazz fell quiet and for a few kliks he wondered if the mech had fallen offline. Then the wheezing of vents could be heard as Jazz began coughing. Faceplates creasing with growing concern at the sound, Prowl repeated his earlier question. “Jazz, where are you? You sound like you need a medic.”

“No! No defragprowler…” 

Optics brightening, Prowl canted his helm in confusion. “Nobody is going to defrag you. You accepted treatment, that means you’re not getting defragged, don’t you remember?”

“Hit you...shouldn’t’ve...frag…th’ force is coming…” 

Prowl was already out of his apartment as he utilised his enforcer scanner to pinpoint the incoming call. “Just stay where you are, if they speak to you, don’t exacerbate the situation.” 

“Me? Exazzerbate… kinky,” Jazz giggled, mumbling nonsensically. “Smokes’ was right, Prowler,” he continued a little more clearly. “Better to put me out of my misery…”

Prowl transformed and weaved through the empty highways. Jazz wasn’t too far away according to his scanner but he had to keep him talking. If Jazz got arrested while on treatment he would be sent to the defrag clinic and Prowl as his psychologist wouldn’t get a say. The treatment would be considered a failure. “Smokes’? Smokescreen? You saw him?” He asked. He didn’t really care what Smokescreen had said he just wanted to keep Jazz talking so he didn’t do anything stupid. He could already hear what sounded like enforcers over the channel. 

“Look mechs, I’m harmin’ nobody,” Jazz was saying. His slurred words suddenly became a growl. “Get your fraggin’ hands off me!” 

Prowl cursed internally and increased his speed, skidding around a corner, he transformed and called out to the enforcers who looked at him in confusion, momentarily releasing their hold of Jazz, who stumbled into leaning against the nearest wall.. “He’s with me,” he declared firmly, striding up to the two mechs. 

“He’s overcharged and likely high, it’s an offence,” one enforcer began.

“I know what it is,” Prowl replied tersely, stepping between them and Jazz. “He got away from me, I’m taking him home, he’s had a bad cycle,” he explained, quickly formulating a story to spin.

“We all have bad cycles, no excuse to be disorderly in public,” the second enforcer ground out with irritation, motioning towards Jazz who bristled. 

Side-stepping into his path, Prowl ducked his helm and lowered his voice. “Please don’t, his bondmate to be left him this cycle,” he gestured back towards Jazz with a sympathetic glance. “He found out he was cheating on him, the mech’s devastated, please let me take him home. He’ll recharge it off,” he met the enforcers’ hard glares and stood his ground as Jazz watched with a befuddled frown. 

The smaller of the two enforcers nudged his partner. “Let’s just leave it, yeah…?”

The second enforcer let out a low rumble of disapproval but relented. “Go home, if I see him out again, he’s going to the stockade.”

“Quite right,” Prowl nodded, taking a step backwards towards Jazz, keeping his gaze on them until they transformed and left them alone.

“Pretty doorwings,” Jazz drawled from behind him and Prowl shook his helm and managed to catch him as he turned.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Am home,” Jazz waved an arm towards the building behind them. “Locked out, breached curfew,” he grinned up at Prowl, barely able to stand under his own power.

Optics dimming tiredly, Prowl let out a low hum of consternation. Pulling Jazz’s arm around the back of his neck, he supported his waist and half tugged, half guided him down the street. 

“Where we going?” Jazz mumbled, leaning heavily on Prowl. 

“Somewhere you can rest,” Prowl stated simply. 

Jazz peered up at Prowl’s stern face and even through the blur of being overcharged he saw what he’d never seen on Prowl’s face before. Worry. Then a flicker of memories, battle planning, mission debriefs, arguments came to the fore of his processor and he frowned. He had seen that look before. Had he always dismissed it? Had Prowl always worried? Why had he never seen it that way before? His questions evaporated as he felt his tank lurch. “Oh slag…”

Prowl stiffened as Jazz grunted, surged forward and purged his tank. Helping him to his knees so he didn’t throw himself in the mess, Prowl could only look on in sympathy and mild nausea as Jazz emptied his tank onto the floor.

****

Smokescreen grunted and rolled out of his berth as his door pinged repeatedly. “Alright, I’m coming! For frag’s sake, somebody better be dying,” he grumbled, slapping the door release. His optics brightened when they met Prowl’s and he stared at a very limp looking Jazz. “Prowl?”

“He’s staying with you,” Prowl declared firmly, marching past Smokescreen into his apartment. He carefully deposited Jazz on the nearby sofa seat and turned to raise an optics ridge nonchalantly at his friend’s stunned gaze. 

“Why? What the frag?” 

“You put it into his processor that he was going to be defragged because of what happened earlier. He got himself so overcharged he got locked out of his lodgings, was nearly arrested by the enforcers, again and spent most of this evening apologising to me for things I do not recall,” Prowl stepped closer to a glum looking Smokescreen, his doorwings flaring in annoyance. “I told you I would deal with it. Kindly refrain from breaking my patients in future,” he uttered tersely. 

Smokescreen’s doorwings drooped and he ducked away from Prowl’s fierce glare. “Worked didn’t it, he contacted you,” he muttered, trailing off at Prowl’s annoyed growl. 

“He was lucky this time,” Prowl replied and pinched his recently repaired nose bridge. “He will be staying with you until I deem him fit and stable enough to live by himself. You know the drill, no high grade, no parties.”

Pulling a face and rubbing the back of his helm, Smokescreen groaned. “Aw, c’mon, Prowl. Why can’t he stay with you? He’s your patient.”

“Exactly. Therefore it would be a conflict of interests,” Prowl headed for the door. “You’re the one who always told me not to take my work home with me,” he glanced back at the blue and yellow mech. “I will be in late tomorrow, recharge well, Smokescreen.”

Grunting his reply as he glanced over at Jazz who had passed out face down on the comfy seat, Smokescreen vented a sigh. “Yeah… what I tell him, he remembers… typical,” he said to himself as he made his way back to his berth. Not before making sure his main door was locked to everyone but him. Though he doubted even that would keep Jazz there if he didn’t want to stay.

****

The next cycle saw Prowl sitting at his desk, staring at his notes. He’d barely recharged but was doing his best not to let his fatigue show through. He still had patients to see and help. They came first. First Aid was his first patient for this cycle and the mech had shown enough progress to move onto the next stage of his treatment. Prowl would have to go over the rules with him as he did all his patients. At each stage of their treatment, he reminded them. In the beginning he had a case or two where the patient had developed an emotional attachment to the physical aspect of the treatment and once the situation was explained to them, they had to be switched to another psychologist’s practice. It didn’t happen very often due to the casual nature of interfacing on Cybertron but there was always that risk. Prowl was just thankful the attachment in that sense hadn’t come from him. If he was to remain good at his job, he needed to remain detached, professional, even if he quite liked his patients as individuals. There were no exceptions, not in Prowl’s optics. 

That being said, one patient still lingered on his mind. When he’d been third in command of the Autobots, Jazz had had quite a sway over mechs and femmes alike. He was described as charming, cheerful and all round nice guy, with a deadly streak you didn’t want to mess with. The two reports seemed conflicting. ‘Cons had feared him, ‘bots had wanted to be like him or be with him, either seemed to suit. Somehow, somewhere following Optimus’s reported death and the anointment of the new Prime Rodimus, Jazz had fallen by the way side and slipped into the darker recesses of Cybertron. 

Prowl frowned in thought. Why had nobody helped him before? Why had Jazz forfeited his duties as an officer in the Autobot army and gone awol? Grief or something deeper, darker? Prowl had a feeling there was more than just a few bad missions that lurked in Jazz’s processor. Yet the mech seemed morbidly afraid of being defragmented. Why would a mech who hated his life so very much want to hold onto the very thing that was causing him pain? That was where Prowl would have to focus on next time.

The knock on his door brought Prowl out of his notes and he smiled at First Aid who looked nervous as he greeted him. The mech had probably been worrying about this session all cycle. “First Aid, I hope you’re well?” 

The medic nodded and perched in his usual seat. “Been okay, busy with work. I met someone,” he added quickly, ducking his helm with embarrassment. 

Prowl’s optics brightened at the sudden, unexpected statement and he smiled as he sat in his usual seat. “Did you now?” He asked curiously. “Somebody nice I hope?”

First Aid nodded eagerly. “He’s so nice, Prowl. I think you’d like him. He’s a medic too, well training to be even though he’s not that much younger than me,” he smiled coyly. “He asked me to go for energon with him.”

“Are you going to go?” 

“I don’t know,” First Aid shrugged and looked away with a frown. “He’ll probably want to interface…”

Prowl nodded with understanding. “I see and you don’t feel ready for that yet?”

“Well, it’s not that I’m not ready, I just… I don’t know… what if I panic, Prowl?” He looked up at Prowl worriedly. “What if he doesn’t like me? Or I frag it up?” 

“First Aid, if a mech judges you by what happens during interfacing then they are not a mech you want to be with,” he stated, leaning forward and taking hold of First Aid’s hand in a gesture of comfort.

The medic nodded and looked down at the floor. “I’m nervous, Prowl,” he whispered softly. “It’s been a very long time that I’ve been on my own and…” he trailed off when Prowl gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“You don’t need to explain to me, I understand. This session is to reinforce what we’ve already made progress with and to give you added comfort and security. We won’t be doing anything you don’t feel comfortable with,” Prowl explained with a soft smile. 

Ex-venting slowly, First Aid nodded. “Feel so lost without the rest of my gestalt sometimes,” he commented, looking down at their joined hands, watching Prowl’s thumb gently, soothingly run over his fingers. “Alright,” he stated resolutely, smiling up at Prowl. “I’m ready.”

Standing, Prowl kept hold of First Aid’s hand and placed his datapad down on his desk as he led him to the berth in the private area of his office. Turning to face him, Prowl sat down on the berth. “From what we worked through last session, which would you rather choose; instigator or receiver?” 

First Aid rubbed the back of his neck and squirmed a little and grinned shyly. “I think I’m ready to instigate…” 

Prowl smiled and reached out a hand to cup his face, his thumb caressing the mech’s face mask. Leaning closer, Prowl pressed a kiss to the metal and First Aid’s visor dimmed at the contact. Releasing his mask, he pressed forward and captured Prowl’s mouth in a needy kiss, fingers curling around his waist. 

Breaking the kiss, Prowl lay back on the berth, taking First Aid’s hand and tugging him gently up to join him. Inhaling deeply, First Aid climbed onto the berth and crawled over Prowl’s frame. His hand hovered over his plating and he looked to Prowl’s face hesitantly. “May I?”

“Of course,” Prowl replied. 

First Aid watched his own hand move slowly over Prowl’s frame, gently teasing seams, eliciting soft exhalations from the larger mech. It was exhilarating to be able to touch another this way. After losing his gestalt, First Aid had withdrawn from most physical contact outside of his work as a medic. He had been one of Prowl’s first patients and he knew it had taken him a long time to overcome his anxiety with physical contact. His confidence had grown with the progress they’d made together and now he was actively interacting with mechs outside of work. All that progress though, didn’t mean his nervousness would vanish and he found the more he caressed the curves of Prowl’s frame, the more his hands trembled. 

Sensing his building apprehension, Prowl curled his hands about First Aid’s and squeezed them reassuringly. “Stop over thinking it, just enjoy the moment,” he let go of First Aid’s hands and splayed his fingers out over the mech’s plating, beginning to caress slowly, smiling when First Aid pressed into his touches. 

Encouraged and distracted by Prowl’s expertly placed caresses, First Aid resumed his exploration of Prowl’s frame and began to move lower, tracing the lines over his midriff and the outline of the detailing over his hips. Caught up in the moment, First Aid brushed his fingertips over the closed interface panel, pulling a soft gasp from Prowl whose hips rose slightly to meet his touches.

First Aid’s visor darkened when the panel released at a little more teasing and he stole a glance up at Prowl before proceeding to touch exposed, heated components. He felt his own excitement growing exponentially and his nervousness fading rapidly. He’d forgotten just how good it felt simply to arouse another mech. He knew Prowl wouldn’t allow himself an overload during the session and he understood, every psychologist had their boundaries and those were Prowl’s. He could respect that. 

He felt his own components growing hotter beneath his panel as he teased Prowl's exposed components. Prowl was wonderfully responsive and it only spurred him on. First Aid’s panel didn’t remain closed for long, as he caressed and stroked Prowl’s spike and dipped into his valve, the sounds he was pulling from the Praxian alone, were enough to get his spike fully erect. It had been such a long time though and the opening of his panel caused him to falter. 

Prowl watched him with lidded optics, focused, observant of any negative feelings about what they were doing. When First Aid began to pull away, Prowl sat up and gently took a hold of his hand.

“Prowl… I…”

“It’s alright,” he replied with a small smile, slowly guiding First Aid’s hand back to his components, his optics locked with his visor. “You have nothing to fear, imagine… I am that mech that makes your spark pulse faster, harder. Can you do that for me?”

Giving him a sheepish smile, First Aid nodded and relaxed a little, resuming his touches, inhaling sharply when Prowl’s deft fingers began fondling his components. Prowl’s touches were gradually progressive, building up to something more with more intent, need and First Aid panted with want he hadn’t felt in a long time. Offlining his optics, he pictured that mech he’d spoken about and a smile took over his faceplates and pushed Prowl back down onto the berth with a growl, parting his legs as he lay flush to his heated frame. 

Prowl had to admit to a touch of surprise when First Aid bodily shoved him back but allowed things to continue, pleased that First Aid was rediscovering his confidence. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped when the mech slipped a hand between them and pawed needily at his components, fingers playfully dipping into his valve, priming him for spiking. Clenching his denta, Prowl’s fingers curled into the berth as First Aid wasted no time in replacing his fingers with his spike and rocked over Prowl, burying his spike deep inside him with a low groan. 

“Frag…” Prowl let the soft curse slip past his lips and grimaced when First Aid froze atop him. 

“I’m sorry… I came on too strong… I’ll stop… so so--” First Aid’s words died with a whimper as Prowl pressed two fingers gently against his lips and used his valve to squeeze the invading spike inside him with well practised movements. 

“Don’t be,” Prowl reassured. “Don’t mistake it for dislike, it is most certainly not dislike,” he continued, letting his hands rest around First Aid’s waist.

“Really…?” First Aid asked nervously. 

“Really,” Prowl smiled. “It feels good. You feel good.”

Nodding, feeling heat flare over his faceplates at the compliment, First Aid braced himself and began to rock steadily over Prowl, hips rising and falling, sliding his spike in and out of Prowl’s slick heat in a slow, rolling rhythm, moaning softly into the crook of Prowl’s neck. 

Curling his arms about the mech, Prowl panted and groaned as the spike rubbed over sensor nodes lining his valve. It was a wonderful warm feeling that blossomed into something tingly and pleasurable, spreading slowly throughout his whole frame. It would be so easy to forget himself, let go and allow the pleasure to run its natural course but Prowl knew that for him that would be a breach of trust. He wasn’t supposed to, in his processor, glean pleasure from these sessions. These were learning, rediscovering sessions, time to reassure and soothe, heal. Feeling First Aid’s movements becoming more erratic, Prowl held onto him, lightly stroking his back struts and whispered into his audio. “Let go, feel it.”

Keening, First Aid shuddered and thrust thrice more, his spike unloading into Prowl’s valve, causing the mech to suck in air sharply through his vents. Panting and resting his helm on Prowl’s chest, First Aid whimpered and then sighed with satisfaction. “That felt… that was…” he glanced up at Prowl, visor bright. “I don’t feel… anxious…” 

Prowl smiled back and graciously accepted the kiss that First Aid planted onto his lips, laughing softly when the mech pulled away with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, couldn’t think of any other way to thank you.” 

“That’ll do,” Prowl chuckled, giving First Aid some time, before shifting on the berth. “Are you prepared for your plans with the mech that has your attentions?”

Pulling away and accepting the offered cleaning cloth, First Aid nodded hesitantly. “I… I think so,” he smiled weakly. “I guess I still have some insecurities to work through.”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Prowl smiled. “That, you’ll find, is entirely normal, I wouldn’t worry. Just try to enjoy yourself.” 

First Aid’s smile brightened. “I will. I know I will.”


	6. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz looks a little deeper and rediscovers something he thought he'd lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delay in update. Haven't forgotten about this fic, just have a lot going on with my second degree and work. Slow progress is slow but it's still progress. ^_^
> 
> Sticky interfacing this chapter!

“Smokescreen, I trust you rested well,” Prowl didn’t even look up from his desk and his patient notes as Smokescreen entered the room.

Resisting the urge to swear at his friend and colleague, Smokescreen simply strolled across the room and sat heavily in the chair opposite Prowl.

Glancing up at the other mech, Prowl raised an optic ridge. “Are you here for a session?” he asked dryly.

Pinching his nasal bridge, Smokescreen sighed. “Feel like I need one.”

“You’ll have to make an appointment,” Prowl replied, completely deadpan.

Smokescreen snorted and sat back in his chair, optics meeting Prowl’s with a smirk. “You’re a funny mech,” he declared. “Want to hear something so predictable it’s not funny anymore?”

“You came to tell me that Jazz has disappeared,” came the straight forward reply.

Optics brightening, Smokescreen shot a dirty yet surprised look at Prowl. “How do you do that!?”

A small smile tugging at his lips, Prowl ducked his helm slightly. “Jazz comm’d me to inform me and to apologise for his behaviour.”

“He did?” Huffing slightly, Smokescreen’s doorwings twitched. “Would it have killed him to leave a note?”

“I believe I was the note,” Prowl remarked mildly.

Nodding, falling quiet for a moment, Smokescreen seemed worried. “Is he coming back?”

Prowl’s expression became somber. “I’m not sure. Jazz wasn’t sure when I asked him.”

“Are you pressing charges?”

Faltering at the question, Prowl’s fingers absently touched his repaired nose. “No, but he has until his next session with me before I have to report his absence to the enforcers and they will issue the warrant for his arrest and reformatting.”

Frowning, Smokescreen leaned forward on his chair. “You really want that?”

Giving Smokescreen a sharp look and a frown, Prowl shook his helm subtly. “Of course I don’t but the law is the law, Smokescreen and if he doesn’t want to be helped, I can’t do anything for him, no matter how in touch with my old self I am.”

Pursing his lips, Smokescreen didn’t reply for a few kliks. “You know you told me you respected him once,” he held Prowl’s expectant gaze. “I figured that was as close as you got to admitting you liked someone. There weren’t many bots you respected beyond Prime.”

Looking down at his desk, not entirely sure where Smokescreen was going, Prowl vented air quietly. “What is your point, Smokescreen?”

“Just that when others thought Jazz had been lost in a mission or that he should abort and pull out, you were always the one advocating for him, giving him the benefit of the doubt. I don’t think even Jazz realised how much faith you had in him.”

He didn’t remember, it was frustrating and Prowl frowned looking out of one of his tall windows for a short while before responding. “I’m sure whatever faith I had in Jazz was based on statistical analysis of his mission data and his skill set,” he murmured quietly, looking back at Smokescreen who appeared sad at his words.

“Even you weren’t that clinical, Prowl. Though you’d be the last to admit it.”

“Maybe not but any faith I did or did not have isn’t going to help him much if he isn’t receptive to help is it?” Prowl snapped suddenly, looking away sharply as he realised his tone.

Optics brightening in surprise, Smokescreen frowned in concern. “When was the last time you reset your sensor net?”

“I’ve been busy,” Prowl uttered bluntly, avoiding the question.

Grunting with disbelief, Smokescreen rounded the table and placed his hand on Prowl’s shoulders, turning him to face him. “You build up too much excess you’re going to fry, you can’t help your patients if you’re a glitching mess on the floor. You know this,” he stated sternly, holding Prowl’s gaze, watching as the look of defense and the tension in his doorwings slowly dissipated as his words sunk in. “We can finish early, come on, let’s get you fragged,” he grinned, clapping a hand on Prowl’s shoulder as he stood and ushered him to the door of his office.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so crude about it,” Prowl muttered. He knew Smokescreen was right. He’d only let unreleased charge build up once before and the resulting glitch had been both excruciating and embarrassing, especially when it had been First Aid who had scolded him on the merits of taking care of himself and not ruining all of his hard work repairing him in the first place. “And no high grade this time!”

****

Jazz sat atop the building. He’d climbed onto the roof to look out over New Praxus. This building ironically just happened to be the tallest in the newly built city. Peering down on the streets below, he spied two familiar frames leaving. Distinctive because there weren’t many Praxian born mechs living on Cybertron never mind New Praxus. The frame model had almost gone extinct when Megatron had razed Praxus. Jazz watched them walk towards the transport. They were finishing early.

Leaning back on his hands, Jazz mused for a few kliks. He had just intended to come up here, get some perspective. It helped him to get away from things and climbing up to the roofs of the tallest buildings was usually the last place anyone would look, given how dangerous and unprotected they were to climb up to. Jazz wasn’t fazed though, it was peaceful high up above the world.

This time however, an opportunity had presented itself. Prowl and Smokescreen had left their office early and Jazz was more than curious about this new found Prowl. He didn’t trust him. Couldn’t trust him. The Prowl he’d known had known way too much, been too controlling to have simply ended up losing everything that he knew, everything he was. He knew it was feasible but this was Prowl. He had to remember even if it was just the last time Jazz had seen Prowl alive before that shuttle incident. Jazz needed him to remember. If only because it had been the only time Prowl had ever opened up to him.

He’d only opened up to him minutely, most wouldn’t even have called it a connection but for a mech that was harder to read than stone, it was everything. That was the one time Jazz had felt like he’d mattered to the Praxian, that Prowl had known of his existence and had cared all along. Then the Decepticons had gunned him and everybody on that shuttle down. No survivors. That had been the official report. Jazz had checked the mausoleum where their bodies had been placed after Unicron had been defeated and Prowl’s hologram and plaque had been there right along with the rest. Frowning, Jazz couldn’t bring himself to look at the bodies. He’d just assumed they were there. Hadn’t considered that it might have been a mistake.

Making up his mind, Jazz activated his cable from his wrist and hooked the sharp edge over the side of the building. Leaning back, he slowly scaled down the smooth side, making his way down to where he’d worked out Prowl’s office was.

Slipping inside the cut crystal glass, Jazz looked around the office. Now where would Prowl keep all his private files? He wandered casually over to his desk and ran his fingers over the cabinet at the back. He knew Prowl of old had kept a safe place for things he didn’t want falling into the wrong hands. He was curious if that was still the case. Humming softly, Jazz fingered the ornaments on the shelf behind his desk and with a grin pulled the piece of uncarved crystal. It barely budged but he heard a distinct click and a panel in the wall slid open.

“Bingo,” Jazz murmured to himself, picking up the pile of datapads from the small space. “Same old Prowl,” he commented, flopping into Prowl’s chair and putting his feet up on the table. “Now let’s see what we have here.”

Jazz hacked into every file. The security was tight, typically Prowl but breakable. Most security was fallible when it came to his skill set. He chose Soundwave’s file first. The mech’s visits to Prowl had intrigued him and he wanted to know what the Decepticon commander had on the former SIC of the Autobot army. The more he read though, the more his spark sank. Soundwave had been exiled after Optimus and Megatron had been killed. He’d ended up on a slag heap of a world with his symbiotes. According to the file he’d suffered horrific assault and had been forced to witness the murder of two of his symbiotes before Galvatron had found him. The mech had promised him retribution and Soundwave, mad with grief, guilt and rage had blindly followed. He’d slipped into obscurity upon Optimus’s return and had been found wandering the ruined streets of Praxus by contractors scouting out the land for the new city.

He had been tried for his part in the war and absolved of his actions following the death of two of his symbiotes and his remaining two symbiotes were placed with a surrogate while he was sent to a medical facility for treatment and potential de-fragmentation. He’d sought out Prowl’s treatment not long after Prowl had become qualified. Had it been a mutual respect? Jazz wasn’t certain but he was shocked and saddened by what the mech had been through, in spite of himself. Though he had growled when he’d read Prowl’s detailed treatment regime. He didn’t understand it, didn’t care to, as far as he could see Prowl had turned himself into a glorified pleasurebot.

Undeterred he hacked the other files. He found Hook’s, a seeker he didn’t know the name of and then finally stumbled upon First Aid’s file. The medic had suffered through the loss of his entire gestalt and had turned to Prowl. He’d been one of his first patients. Jazz had found it odd, figured it would have been a conflict of interests. Reading the notes though, he soon came to realise that First Aid felt like Prowl had already saved him from self deactivation. Working on saving Prowl, or as much of him as he could, had kept him distracted, kept him from dwelling on the loss of his gestalt and for the medic it was only natural that Prowl continue what he’d unknowingly started.

Frowning and lowering the datapad he was hacked into down for a few kliks, Jazz absently rubbed his helm. How had he not known about any of this? Was he so out of touch? Had he been for so long?

Shaking his helm, he decided to access the one file he was truly interested in. Prowl’s medical file was much harder to hack into but Jazz was no amateur, he still had his ways. Once in, Jazz settled in his seat and thumbed through the file. There were a few coded entries made by Ratchet during the war, Jazz didn’t need to look at them. He slowed when he reached First Aid’s entries, this was what he had been looking for.

He read through them in chronological order. He read through the details of the crash, the discovery that Prowl was still online when they’d found him. First Aid had had him whisked off the shuttle so fast, the recovery crews had assumed he’d been thrown from the shuttle when it had crash landed. Communications that he’d survived hadn’t been passed along. Given everything that had been happening at the time though, Jazz wasn’t surprised that communication had been the first thing to break down.

Jazz let out a soft whistle at the extent of Prowl’s injuries. By all rights, he shouldn’t have survived but First Aid refused to give up on him, even after his spark had threatened to gutter, twice. Exhaling slowly, Jazz read the whole file and placed it on the desk, his visor dim as he took a moment to process all the information. Prowl was certainly the same Prowl and yet he wasn’t and never could be. The mech had had to relearn how to do everything, that they took for granted, again. The more he had remembered about who he’d been, the harder his recovery had become. Yet, Jazz noted, he hadn’t opted for de-fragmentation, had refused it out-right when First Aid had presented it as an option. He’d chosen to remain as he was, even though he knew he would never be the same. That had to be hard to live with. Difficult to process. He’d lost his sparklinghood, his family, memories of Praxus, his time serving more than one Prime. He’d lost almost everything. Not all, but enough to leave a mech constantly wondering who he was, who he knew, had known. Jazz had lost a lot but his identity was more than intact. In fact his good memories had kept him going on many occasion when he’d just wanted to offline for good. Prowl had no past good memories or bad memories.

Putting the datapads back in the little secret compartment, Jazz resealed it and made sure everything was as it had been before leaving through the front door. Inconspicuous in plain sight. He had a lot of thinking to do and it had to start with not wallowing in his own misery. He needed direction, focus, a goal. Help.

He needed help.

****

Prowl was tense, more so than usual when they did this. Smokescreen didn't understand his discomfort and Prowl couldn't explain it. Interfacing as a casual pastime and energy release was normal on Cybertron, it always had been. Yet Prowl had never accepted that reasoning. Even before his near death on the shuttle, Prowl had been reluctant to interface with anyone he wasn't currently in a relationship with. Given that Prowl had been bonded to his work it wasn't surprising that Ratchet had been forced to medically induce overload for him when the build up had gotten excessive and started causing him to glitch. Their bodies needed to interface it was just how they were made. Higher performance frames needed to more than others but there were no exceptions, yet Prowl had illogically resisted the need and the urges. To this cycle, Smokescreen didn't understand why. "Prowl you need to relax. Primus' sake, it's not like I'm going to hurt you," Smokescreen was exasperated. "If you don't overload from a complete interface soon, your systems will start crashing. It's been groons! Didn't First Aid tell you to interface and overload more?"

"He did and I understand the need," Prowl replied quietly. "You know I don't understand my reluctance, it must be triggered by something in my past that I do not remember," he looked down at his hands a frown marring his features. "I apologise, Smokescreen, I know it's irrational."

Smokescreen wilted at Prowl’s tone and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You know you never have to apologise for not remembering, Prowl,” he replied, his tone softer. “We have done this before though, you trust me,” he paused and asked hesitantly. “You do trust me, right?”

“Of course I do!” Prowl met Smokescreen’s worried gaze. “I don’t know what causes the anxiety and I have no way of finding out.”

Lightly petting a doorwing, Smokescreen smiled faintly and leaned closer, flaring his field against Prowl’s. “You’ll figure it out, you’re just that stubborn,” he grinned at Prowl’s pointed look as he laid him back against the berth.

“That is not the way to win me over,” Prowl replied dryly.

Laughing, Smokescreen, lay flush over Prowl and mouthed playfully at his throat. “Who said anything about winning you over?” He grinned and nipped Prowl’s lower lip. “I like that you’re stubborn.”

“Do you?” Prowl asked sarcastically. “Only when it is used against others though, hm?” He arched slightly as Smokescreen’s hand found his panel and stroked it until it obediently slid open.

“Watching you crush others with only your arid words, has a certain level of satisfaction to it,” Smokescreen chuckled, gently caressing heated components. “Can I help it if I don’t want them directed at me?”

Optics dimming as he hummed with enjoyment, Prowl finally started to relax. “Do not think you’re exempt,” Prowl responded with a lowly murmur, smirking up at his friend.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Smokescreen grinned, carefully lining their components up and rocking his hips to slowly sink his spike into Prowl’s inviting, hot valve.

Groaning, fingers curling into Smokescreen’s plating, Prowl’s intakes started to pant. “Yes you would,” he breathed with a small smile.

Matching his smile, Smokescreen began to rock in and out of Prowl’s tight heat, propping himself up over the other Praxian. “Who wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of your attentions?” he quipped lightly. “On that note, have you got any interest yet?”

Prowl resisted the urge to roll his optics as he wrapped his legs about Smokescreen’s hips, forcing him deeper, his valve quivering with the increased sensations. “You know I haven’t,” he stated mildly. “I do not understand this obsession you have with my personal life.”

Smokescreen’s doorwings rose and fell slightly in the Praxian version of a shrug. “I’m interested in your emotional well being, it’s not an easy job we do, you need somebody you can open up to.”

“I open up to you.”

“It’s not the same and you know it,” Smokescreen gave Prowl a slightly rebuking look and picked up his pace, pulling short sharp gasps from Prowl’s parted mouth. “You need intimacy, something more than platonic ‘facing. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy ‘facing with you, Prowl but emotionally it isn’t everything you need. What about that femme we met in the bar last groon?”

Prowl inhaled sharply as Smokescreen thrust deeper, faster into him, sending waves of pleasure zinging through his sensor net. “You may…  not recall…  given how overcharged you were, but she was far more interested in you.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Smokescreen protested.

“She stuck her glossa down your throat,” Prowl replied with a smirk. “And I’m pretty certain she has ended up in your berth since.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything. Frag, you’re in my berth right now,” Smokescreen replied with a hint of defensiveness.

“Evidently,” Prowl’s smirk grew, his lips parting as soft mewls escaped his vocaliser at the pleasure suffusing through his frame.

“Don’t hear you complaining,” Smokescreen grinned back, punctuating his statement with a few hard thrusts that had Prowl arching and writhing beneath him with whines of pleasure.

There were no more words as Smokescreen increased his pace and curled over Prowl, mouthing and biting at his throat as he rocked into him eagerly, his pace becoming erratic as he approached his climax. “Nnghh, Prowl…” he groaned, thrusting with abandon into the tightening valve.

Prowl wasn’t much more coherent, his entire frame tingled and he clung to Smokescreen’s frame, valve clamping down on the invading spike as his overload hit. It was intense as he knew it would be, given how much excess he’d pent up. He arched up into Smokescreen with a sharp holler of release, his entire frame shuddering, fingers raking down the other Praxian’s back as he whimpered when Smokescreen’s overload followed his own, filling his valve with a fluid heat.

Lying together on Smokescreen’s berth, their limbs still tangled, Prowl let out a hum as he bathed in the blissful aftermath of their interfacing, sated. “Would never complain about a satisfactory result,” he grinned, receiving a pinched doorwing from Smokescreen, who pushed off him with a snort of amusement.

Catching him and rolling him onto his back, careful not to trap his doorwings, Prowl smirked down at his friend. “Just where do you think you’re going? I’m not done yet.”

Smokescreen laughed. “So demanding,” he rocked his hips up, letting their components meet as Prowl climbed atop him.

“You love it,” Prowl remarked, humour in his tone as he wasted no time in burying his spike deep into Smokescreen’s slick valve, swallowing the groan slipping from Smokescreen’s ‘o’ shaped mouth with a searing kiss. Once he’d managed to get past his initial reluctance, Prowl thoroughly enjoyed a full interfacing, which only made his apprehension in the beginning even more perplexing. It was something he was definitely going to have to get to the bottom of.

Later though, he thought to himself, he still had a lot of excess energy to work through.

****

“You’re back,” Smokescreen exclaimed as he stepped into his apartment after seeing Prowl to the transport.

“I’m back,” Jazz drawled, putting his feet up on the nearby low table. “You’ve been busy,” he gave Smokescreen a wide knowing grin. “That how you got him working with you?”

Smokescreen frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Got to hand it to you, Smokes’ your pleasurebot business is just what you always wanted, right?”

Smokescreen growled and his doorwings flared up on his back. “That is not what my business is and you fraggin’ well know it!”

Jazz shrugged nonchalantly. He had in fact looked up the methods they were using at his practise and despite his earlier opinion, he certainly couldn’t call him and Prowl pleasurebots, no matter how angry he was. Didn’t mean he couldn’t rattle Smokescreen’s cage with it though. “Got a question for you,” he replied casually as though Smokescreen hadn’t said anything.

Venting air in frustration, Smokescreen folded his arms and glared at Jazz. “What is it?”

“Praxians,” Jazz stated cryptically.

Smokescreen reset his optics and simply stared at the confounding mech. “What about them?” he asked incredulously.

Jazz reached into his subspace and pulled out a modest blue tinged crystal and place it carefully on the table, visor fixed on it. “Do you routinely give crystals to other mechs?”

His optics brightened at the crystal on his table and Smokescreen ventured closer, a frown marring his faceplates. “Is that… Praxian crystal?” he asked softly, sitting down beside Jazz, completely focused on the small item on his table.

“The same,” Jazz nodded. “One of the only surviving fragments from the original gardens.”

Smokescreen reached out but hesitated as his fingers brushed over the unadulterated surface. “May I?” he glanced back at Jazz, hopefully.

Jazz gave him a nod and watched him closely as he carefully, reverently picked up the ancient piece of crystal and inspected it thoroughly.

“Primus, Jazz, where did you get this?”

“Told you, it was given to me.”

Smokescreen frowned. “Praxian crystals aren’t routinely given away,” he explained. “This is rarer than most too. See the bluish tinge?”

Jazz nodded as Smokescreen held it up to the light.

“This only grew in one part of Praxus. Even the gardens didn’t have blue crystals. This was from a collection, cultivated, grown,” Smokescreen gently placed it back down on the table and sat back on the sofa. “In old Praxus, you could have bought half the city with a crystal like that.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s worthless, well apart from being a piece of Praxian history.”

“How so,” Jazz asked, keeping Smokescreen focused on the crystal.

“The way a crystal is cultivated, the minerals used to feed it are chosen by the individual but they’re influenced by the class of Praxian they belong to. Colours and shapes can tell you a lot about the creator of the crystal, if you know what to look for,” Smokescreen explained.

Jazz gave Smokescreen a sidelong look. “I take it you know what to look for?”

“I’m no expert but blue was rare. It’s the colour of service, not the lowest class of Praxian but not wealthy enough to obtain a pure crystal cutting like this one was grown from either. Its shape and size and the clarity signify high standing. It’s confusing, the two would never normally go together. I think somebody was trying to make a political statement when they made this.”

“I don’t get it,” Jazz admitted, folding his arms with a frown.

Smokescreen thought for a moment before attempting to explain. “Crystals in Praxian society were class signifiers. Some mechs had them decorated on their frame, others kept them as ornaments but every mech knew where you came from, what standing you had in society upon seeing the crystal you carried. Every Praxian sparkling is given a crystal when they’re put into their first frame and taught how to cultivate and grow it properly. We learned it before we learned how to talk, read or even write.”

"Huh," Jazz grunted as he gazed at the crystal thinking of all the history, culture and traditions they'd lost in the pursuit of war. "So what sort of individual would sport this sort of crystal?"

"Either a Noble or high class who had taken up a service position or a lower class bot who somehow climbed above their station. Each were possible, rare though. This crystal though was deliberately made to make a statement about the carrier. Probably a controversial one, given that I think it's likely a higher class mech that has willingly downgraded his position in society."

"A statement," Jazz repeated thoughtfully. "And if someone were to give this sort of crystal to someone else as a gift or a keepsake?"

Smokescreen hummed thoughtfully. "Old practice but it signifies a promise and a demonstration of considerable trust." He pursed his lip components. "Mechs don't just give away their sparkling crystals on a whim. I still have mine, somewhere," pushing up off the sofa, Smokescreen patted Jazz's knee. "Energon?"

"Yeah, make it a strong one," Jazz replied distractedly, optics locked with the crystal on the table.

"Where did you say you got that from again?" Smokescreen called out to him curiously.

"I didn't," Jazz murmured in reply.

****

FLASHBACK

“Keep Prime grounded while I’m gone,” Ironhide clapped Jazz on the back as the mech grinned back at him.

“Sure thing, I’ll wave my guns about and blow some holes in some things and he won’t know you’re away,” Jazz laughed as he ducked away from a playful swipe of Ironhide’s arm before the red mech turned and headed up the shuttle ramp.

“Don’t get slagged, I’m not going to fix you when I get back!” Ratchet called out from inside the shuttle.

Jazz just waved and tensed as he felt an energy field shimmer behind him. “Prowl,” he turned to greet the tactician stood behind him. “Figured you’d already be on the shuttle.”

Prowl’s doorwings twitched. “I had to inform Prime of my misgivings with  this course of action,” he stated blandly.

Jazz nodded. “Still don’t think it’s a good idea huh?”

“No,” Prowl replied tersely, his gaze shifting to the shuttle behind Jazz for a moment.

“Was there something you wanted?” Jazz prompted, fidgeting slightly.

Regarding him with cool blue optics, Prowl ducked his helm in an uncharacteristic display of hesitation which had Jazz frowning. “I know we haven’t always seen optic to optic, Jazz.”

“That’s the understatement of the vorn,” Jazz snorted.

“Yes, well,” Prowl continued quickly. “I have always respected you and despite your reservations towards me, it has been my honour to serve with you.”

Jazz pulled a face and stared at Prowl. “What are you after, mech?”

“Why must I be after anything?”

Jazz laughed and folded his arms. “You’re never this nice to me, anyone would think you’re about to step into a smelting pit.”

“Alright,” Prowl conceded and pulled out a small box from subspace. “I wanted to ask if you would keep something safe for me.”

“So ask.”

Prowl held out the box for Jazz to claim and waited while the mech opened it.

Jazz whistled and looked up at Prowl in surprise. “Mech, is this Praxian crystal?”

“Yes.”

“You trust me to look after this?” Jazz let out an incredulous laugh.

Stepping past him and facing the shuttle, Prowl paused for a moment. Looking back over his shoulder as he half turned to meet Jazz’s gaze, Prowl smiled faintly. “I’d trust you with anything.”

Opening his mouth to reply, Jazz found his words failed him. He was honestly flattered, that was considerably high praise coming from Prowl.

“Thank you, Jazz,” Prowl stated succinctly, his trademark stoicism blanketing over his face, wiping away all trace of his smile as though it had never been there. With a flick of his doorwings he was marching up the ramp and had disappeared into the shuttle leaving Jazz to stare after him in stunned silence.

Gaze dropping to the crystal in his hands, Jazz brushed his fingers over it and closed the box, subspacing it as he gave a short wave to the shuttle. He caught sight of Prowl in the cockpit as the ship lifted and gave another wave, receiving a curt nod from the Praxian. He watched as the thrusters fired up and the shuttle shot out of the hangar and disappeared into deep space. That was the last time Jazz saw any of them alive.

Until now.

**  
******


	7. Demons beneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the past and the consequences for the present.

“Well you know how it is, nice smile, glowing optics and next cycle you wake up in your own berth after having struck out right before the actual interfacing, with a killer processor ache to boot.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge and tilted his helm. “I highly doubt that it is that simplistic.”

“Well yeah, so was I until it happened, several times,” rubbing his helm and leaning forward on his legs, Rodimus sighed. “Most just want the title you know, the thrill of shacking up with a Prime or a former Prime,” he sighed.

“Rodimus you are still Prime, you still carry the Matrix. I thought this was abundantly clear to everybody.”

Nodding, Rodimus gave him a wry grin. “Optimus has tried his best but the council, the people, they still defer to him in most cases. It’s like I’m the figurehead and he’s in charge rather than the other way around.”

Prowl hummed thoughtfully. “Rodimus, forgive me for suggesting this but, might you be jealous?”

Blue optics flared bright at the suggestion. “No!” he answered immediately. “At least… I don’t think so… he’s Prime, you know, he was my Prime, yours, everybody’s…” he bowed his helm. “I was just the fraggin’ stand in.”

“That’s not true at all,” Prowl replied gently. “You were the Prime that defeated Unicron and led us forward into the golden age we are now enjoying. Your decisions got us here, Rodimus. The people don’t just forget that.”

Sitting back with a loud ex-vent, Rodimus met Prowl’s gaze. “Yeah they do, Prowl. Sometimes I think forgetting would be a whole lot slaggin’ easier. Just go back to what I was before.”

“I can assure you that it is not easier,” Prowl replied.

Rodimus winced and looked away. “Frag, Prowl I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that your situation was--”

“--I know and it’s alright,” Prowl held up his hand with a small smile before the mech could self-flagellate some more. “The difficulty with forgetting is that you can’t ever go back. You can only ever move forward, even when that forward is what you’re trying to avoid.”

“Yeah,” Rodimus muttered with a nod. “Would be nice to move forward, follow through with my intentions.”

Writing down a couple of notes, Prowl regarded Rodimus with a smile. “Anxiety preceding interfacing preventing any actual coupling is more common than you think.”

“Great so I’m not the only loser, do we get to have meetings and lament all our past regrets?”

Chuckling, Prowl shook his helm. “Not exactly. We first have to find the root cause of your anxiety and subsequent impotence.”

Pulling a face at the word choice, Rodimus nodded meekly. “Where do we start?”

“When it first started to occur.”

“That’s easy, almost a vorn ago.”

“Could you describe the immediate events leading up to the event?”

Accessing the memory files, Rodimus detailed the reforming of the council, the first meeting with Optimus as his advisor, which he explained was a completely made up and ludicrous position created all because Optimus was too modest to take back the Matrix.

Prowl listened and nodded throughout, waiting for Rodimus to finish before speaking. “What do you feel when you’re in the company of Optimus?”

Blue optics flickered and Rodimus bit on his lower lip. “What do you mean, what do I feel?” He shrugged. “He’s Prime, he saved everyone and the mech’s intense, it’s… I dunno…”

“Intimidating?”

“Sort of, but I know he doesn’t mean to be,” Rodimus pouted. “I never had that sort of presence.”

“Rodimus, what did you feel in Optimus’s presence when you were just Hot Rod?”

Frowning, the flame decaled mech shrugged. “What everyone else did you know… he… I looked up to him… he was everything…” he trailed off with embarrassment and rubbed the back of his neck with a grimace. “I don’t know I should say,” he laughed nervously. “I was immature then.”

“Regardless of your maturity, your feelings still matter. I can only help you, if you are completely honest with me.”

“I had a crush on him, like hero worship but more intense,” Rodimus scowled and folded his arms, looking anywhere but at Prowl.

“Again that was not and probably is not uncommon. Optimus is a captivating mech by sheer presence alone.”

"I guess," Rodimus replied somewhat sullenly.

"Rodimus," Prowl leant forward, his tone gentle. "Do you still have a crush on Optimus?"

“No!” Rodimus retorted immediately, squirming in his seat when Prowl just looked at him. “Well… not like that… it’s nothing…. frag, I’m not some immature mechling you know, Prowl?” He looked down at the floor with a scowl.

“I am aware of this,” came the calm response. “What you don’t seem to be aware of is, it’s perfectly normal to have these feelings for someone you once revered.”

“There is when it’s Optimus,” the red flamed mech muttered sullenly.

Raising an optic ridge, Prowl canted his helm. “Why do you say that?”

“You know what he’s like,” Rodimus sighed. “He just can’t turn it off and he still talks to me at times like I’m Hot Rod.”

“In fairness to Optimus when he died, you were. I do think you need to speak with him.”

Grousing, Rodimus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Come on, Prowl, don’t make me do that,” his protest sounded too much like a whine and he knew it, sighing and rubbing a hand over his face.

“If you cannot at the very least speak to him about how he addresses you, then how am I supposed to help you?” Prowl asked gently.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll try… no promises.”

“That’s all I ask,” Prowl smiled. “Your session is over for this cycle. Remember, he is just a mech with feelings the same as you or me, try not to let his inadvertent intimidation of you take away from who he is.”

Pushing up, Rodimus, reached over and shook Prowl’s hand in an unsurprisingly human gesture and left Prowl’s office, where his body guards were waiting, grumbling to himself along the way.

Prowl shook his helm. Rodimus had to deal with a lot of pressure for one so young, Prowl felt a little sorry for him. It was hard being thrust into responsibility before you’d even really discovered who you were. He didn’t remember but he was told that he hadn’t been too dissimilar. Prowl only hoped he could help him before the younger mech withdrew from what would very likely make him happy.

****

“Hey, Prowler, miss me?”

Prowl glanced up with a bemused expression as Jazz sauntered into his office, late for his appointment. “You are late,” he stated nonchalantly.

“Know that, had a few mechs to see, you know how it is,” Jazz threw him a grin as he flopped onto one of the berths in Prowl’s office, and propped his helm up on his elbow as he scrutinised him.

“I’m sure I don’t,” Prowl replied dryly. “You seem a lot more… willing to participate than our last session,” Prowl met his gaze and waited for Jazz’s reaction.

“Yeah… sorry about that, mech. Some memories more difficult than others, I’m over it,” Jazz ducked his gaze and idly picked at the berth padding.

“Are you?”

Jazz’s visor flickered and he hesitated as he met Prowl’s steady gaze. “Sure,” he shrugged, a grin spreading slowly across his face. “You seem remarkably unfazed, if I may say so,” he added, turning the focus back towards Prowl. Slipping off the berth he strolled lazily over to Prowl’s desk and perched on the edge, hand reaching for a stack of datapads, only to be lightly batted away by Prowl. Some things never changed.

“As much as it may surprise you, Jazz, you are not the most dangerous nor bad tempered mech to have ever entered this office. Nor the first to attack me,” Prowl replied, shooing Jazz off his desk as he stood.

“What? Who attacked you?” Jazz immediately responded, frowning as he glanced around the room as though looking for some unseen intruder.

Tilting his helm curiously, Prowl hummed thoughtfully.

Catching his gaze, Jazz forced himself to relax a fraction. “What?”

“Curious.”

Jazz waited but when an explanation wasn’t forthcoming he prompted Prowl some more. “Alright, I’ll bite, what is?”

“You,” Prowl replied nonchalantly, taking his seat and writing something down in his datapad.

Scowling at him, Jazz pursed his lip components and sat down in his own chair. “You going to be vague all session?”

Giving him a small smile, Prowl canted his helm slightly. “If the situation calls for it.”

“You’re a pain in the aft,” Jazz stated matter of factly.

“I am aware of this,” came the vaguely amused reply as Prowl glanced down at his datapad.

“What the frag is so fraggin’ funny?” Jazz finally snapped after sitting in silence for a few kliks while Prowl regarded him with a placid niceness he loathed.

“The fact that you had no qualms about attacking me and barely even show remorse, even if you do feel it. Yet, when I mention being previously attacked, you immediately displayed aggressive, protective behaviour. I found it curious.”

Jazz stared at him for a long few kliks before shrugging. “I’m territorial,” he answered disinterestedly.

“That much is obvious.”

“Shall we get this slag started then?” Jazz waved his hand dismissively, already impatient for the session to be over. He wanted to mull over his crystal some more, plus there had been a party organised at Smokescreen’s apartment and he wanted to get there before mechs started arriving and Smokescreen in his complete ignorance of said party, turned them all away.

“I already have,” Prowl replied with a small smile.

****

“Prowl!”

Optics brightening at the urgent sharp tone over his comm. Prowl, replied cautiously. “Smokescreen? Is there something wrong?”

“Did you know about this?”

“Know about what?”

“Your fragging patient! I’m pretty sure this breaks some sort of curfew, slippery fragger, he could have warned me!”

Not really sure what to make of Smokescreen’s rant, Prowl remained calm. “Warned you about what? And I presume the patient you’re referring to would be Jazz.”

“Who else would throw a party without permission, hm?”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, fragging right, ah. This is your fault, you dumped him on me, now come here and fix this.”

“I’m not entirely sure what it is you want me to fix, just ask them all to leave.”

“I can deal with the patrons, Prowl, you need to come and talk Jazz down off the roof!”

He was up out of his seat and heading for the door. “What is he doing on the roof?”

“Well I was hoping you could come and find out, you know, before he takes the short way down.”

“Frag,” Prowl breathed, his spark lurching with worry. “I’ll be right there, just keep him talking and don’t call the enforcers!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the protocol, Prowl just hurry.”

The line went dead and Prowl transformed, accelerating from the office building at top speed, weaving in and out of the traffic. His colours had remained close enough to enforcer colours that if spotted he wouldn’t immediately get pulled over. His past did have certain advantages.

****

“Jazz?”

The visored mech barely glanced over his shoulder at the other voice and hesitantly approaching footsteps. He knew who it was, the field and spark signature were still the same as they had ever been. His last session had been about his life outside of war, what had he done in his spare time, what sort of friends had he kept? As always, Jazz had answered with as much honesty as he was willing to give. Never giving all the information but enough to make Prowl move onto his next question. It had drained him though, more than he’d expected. Remembering his life then was difficult. When he hadn’t been fighting, he had been fragging whoever would take him in order to forget the fighting. Parties, high grade, interfacing, they had all helped keep him grounded, helped him forget, at least temporarily. Until the next mission. Thinking back though, it all became a blur, it had all been vapid and unfulfilling anyway. Why should he care about that now?

“Can’t a mech get peace up on a roof now?”

Prowl stopped a few strides away from Jazz, not close enough to catch him if he decided to push off. “I wasn’t aware that the peace was exclusively for you.”

Jazz’s optics brightened at the bland reply and he smirked. “Fair point.”

“While I’m here, would you mind if I sit with you?”

“Always a catch isn’t there?” Jazz chuckled humourlessly and shrugged. “Do what you like, Prowl, should be used to it.”

Accepting the invitation as backhanded as it was, Prowl carefully sat beside Jazz. He wasn’t all that comfortable being so high up but he wasn’t afraid either. Well he wasn’t afraid for himself.

They sat in awkward silence for a short while and Jazz found that his thoughts all trailed off in Prowl’s seemingly calm presence. The mech had always had that effect on him, even if he’d be the last to admit it. To Jazz’s surprise it was Prowl who broke the silence first.

“Quite the party downstairs.”

“Yeah… gave Smokes’ the shock of his life though, tell him I’ll pay for any damage.”

Prowl smiled faintly and ducked his helm. “I do not think he’ll be chasing you anytime soon, by the time I’d arrived he was partaking in a drinking game with the twins.”

Jazz snickered. “Never could turn down a good time that mech.”

“It was almost his undoing,” Prowl replied quietly. “I am glad he’s having a good time, I don’t feel like he’s been content for a long while.”

“Oh?” Jazz’s visor brightened as he looked to Prowl. “I thought you psychologist types were all well adjusted and happy with your life choices.”

Gazing out across the slowly growing city, Prowl’s expression was unreadable, yet Jazz was sure he detected a trace of sadness. “Being in control is not always indicative of happiness or contentment, Jazz. Sometimes those most damaged are those most suitable to helping others.”

Looking away, Jazz had to admit his words made sense. He hadn’t really thought about those he’d fought alongside being just as, if not more so in some cases, as damaged and broken as he was. “Why are you here, Prowl?” he asked quietly, bored with the pleasantries.

“Smokescreen asked me to come. He was afraid that you would take the short cut off the roof.”

Jazz smirked, of course he did. “And what do you think?”

“I don’t believe it is your style,” came the confident reply.

Glancing at the other mech with a genuinely amused smirk, Jazz hummed. “Well you always were strangely in tune to my unpredictability.”

“Perhaps some things are not borne of experience but intuition.”

“Perhaps you’re right, still took a risk coming up here, no enforcers either, Prowl I know wouldn’t have done that,” Jazz watched Prowl closely out of the corner of his optics, studying his reaction.

“The Prowl you know would likely have had you forcibly brought down and possibly tranquilised while he organised your transfer to the re-formatting medical facility,” Prowl answered gently.

Pulling a face, Jazz couldn’t help his wince. “That’s cold, mech.”

“And yet, very likely the truth nobody wants to tell me.”

“You believe that?”

“I have no basis with which to answer that question. I only hold snippets of information, I can only base my opinions on the perceptions of others who knew me and while I may have once commanded respect and maintained strict discipline, I feel it came at a great personal sacrifice. Though I will never know for sure,” Prowl smiled faintly. “I’ve been told many times that I did what I had to do for the good of the Autobot cause.”

Jazz nodded with silent understanding. “Doesn’t quite make it sit right though, does it?”

“Being told I was virtually emotionless when it came to the plight of others?” Prowl let out a soft, saddened chuckle. “Most days I am glad that I don’t remember.”

A silence fell over them once more. Somehow this time there was a comfort there, a mutual understanding. One who had had his life stripped away and one who couldn’t let go no matter how much he wished to. “Weren’t all that bad…”

Prowl looked up at the soft murmur and looked at Jazz expectantly.

Jazz gave him a half sparked shrug and a sheepish grin. “I give you a hard time. Always did, but honestly, Prowl… you weren’t that bad. There was something….” he trailed off and shook his helm. “So you thought you’d come and talk me down off the ledge, huh?” he smirked at the Praxian, giving him a sidelong look as he changed the subject smoothly.

Ducking his gaze, Prowl nodded, mentally noting the melancholy that had been in Jazz’s voice when he’d spoke about him. “It was my intention, but you already knew that.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

Not meeting his gaze, Prowl looked out over the city somberly and vented air quietly. “Yes, I did.”

“Professional courtesy?”

“I didn’t come as your psychologist, Jazz. I came as a friend.”

The words hung heavy in the air and Jazz found any scoffed reply he would normally have thrown back at a mech offering his friendship was lost. This wasn’t just any mech.

“Shall we return to the party?”

“I could use a drink,” Jazz nodded, hesitating warily before accepting Prowl’s offered hand as he stood, his gaze lingering on their hands before Prowl released his. “And someone should probably rescue Smokes’ from the twins, they don’t play nice,” he added casually.

Prowl chuckled softly as he headed off the roof. “I am quite aware of it,” he replied with amusement.

If the mech had noticed Jazz’s hesitance at the brief contact, he didn’t show it, for which he was grateful. The fact that it hadn’t made him recoil in anger had him on the back foot, uncertain, not sure what it meant, if anything. Prowl’s words caught his attention though and Jazz stared at him curiously. “I’m sensing a story there.”

“You are clearly delusional,” Prowl responded dryly.

“Oh really?” Jazz actually laughed as Prowl turned away and headed down the stairs back towards Smokescreen’s apartment, with a flick of his doorwings. “That your professional diagnosis?”

“Not at all,” Prowl smirked over the top of a doorwing at him, “ that is much more damning.”

Jazz silently whistled at the reply dripping with sarcasm and shook his helm with an amused laugh. It was nice to know some things did change after all.

****  
****** **

 

It had taken a vorn, give or take a few groons, before Jazz had felt comfortable enough with Prowl to permit the mech to do more than just take hold of his hand. He’d made good progress since that unfortunate second session. He still had bouts of irrational and uncontrollable anger but Prowl was much more adept at handling them and diffusing them now. Jazz liked to joke about how they’d grown together, to which Prowl would just nod amicably and give him that small, unreadable smile.

Jazz had always been used to the non-expressive, stoic Prowl and found he had read him better than the Prowl he was now. Although more emotionally expressive, Prowl was still very tight lipped about his personal life. Jazz could understand it given the nature of his job, didn’t mean he didn’t press him for information though. Prowl had always been an enigma to him, now more than ever. It was probably why the mech was capable of frustrating him so much. Jazz didn’t like mysteries to remain as such.

“You’re early,” Prowl commented as he entered the room.

Jazz turned around with a lopsided grin and shrugged. “Smokes’ had a um… guest over so I decided I’d show up early. You don’t mind do you?” He asked, watching Prowl enter the room and sort out his datapads on his desk.

“Of course not, though a little warning would be appreciated,” Prowl replied with an agreeable smile. “I might have been with a patient,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Jazz shrugged again, idly fingering the crystal growth on Prowl’s shelf.

“Though we both know your intention has always been to walk in, ‘accidentally’ to another of my sessions,” Prowl commented lightly, coming to stand behind Jazz.

Throwing him an innocent grin over his shoulder, Jazz turned to face him. “What can I say? I’m curious,” he replied easily. “And how is old Soundwave?”

Prowl gave him a look of mild admonishment as the mech sat down. The words had an edge to them when Jazz asked and Prowl knew he wasn’t asking out of the goodness of his spark. “You’re very aware that I cannot discuss my patients with you, Jazz. I wish you’d stop asking,” he answered amicably, picking up his datapad to sit in his usual seat just to the side of Jazz. “Now what is it to be this cycle?” he asked deflecting the topic away from his current patients.

“I wanted to try again,” Jazz stated firmly.

Prowl’s optics brightened in surprise. “The tactile treatment?” he frowned slightly. “Jazz that made you very uncomfortable.”

“I know, mech, I was there but I want to try again,” he insisted, determined. “I don’t want my anger to control me.”

“You won’t even tell me why it makes you angry,” Prowl replied gently, concern lacing his tone. “If I don’t understand it then I’m not sure how to combat it.”

Jazz’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “Prowler--”

“--Prowl.”

“Mech, you worry too much. I want to try. You’ve been handling my anger just fine up ‘til now, why would that change?” he watched as Prowl struggled with his request both professionally and personally. Whether Prowl remembered his past or not, he did care about the mech Jazz was and had been to him, Jazz could tell that much even if it hadn’t been explicitly spoken about. “I trust you,” he added softly.

Prowl’s optics brightened and locked with Jazz’s visor in astonishment. “You trust me?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah…” Jazz replied with a slight frown. It was a huge admittance, he knew that.

“That’s a big step for you.”

“Know that.”

“It’s good progress.”

“Can we not make a big deal out of it,” Jazz rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze from Prowl. “I want to try, are you going to let me?”

“Of course, if you’re sure?” Prowl answered, shaking off his surprise, adopting the professional mask he normally wore during his sessions.

“Sure as I’ll ever be.”

Prowl nodded and gestured to a berth as he stood. “I must reiterate the rules--”

“--I know, I know, you don’t overload, you don’t allow more than one overload per session. I need to focus on the feelings rather than the physical sensations,” Jazz threw Prowl a cheeky smirk. “I miss anything?”

Prowl remained unfazed. “Would you like to be stimulated all the way to overload?”

Jazz faltered, Prowl had asked him that very same question the last time and his answer had been, ‘of course’ but then he had panicked and lashed out. He hated having so little control. “How about we go with the flow and see how I feel throughout, hm?”

Smiling in understanding and mild relief, Prowl gestured for him to take the berth. “I believe that is a wise decision.”

Jazz sat on the berth facing Prowl, who was stood a little to his left, giving him space to prepare himself. He was grateful for that. “Alright, whenever you’re ready,” he grinned widely, trying to cover up his growing anxiety. Not that he thought for a klik Prowl would be fooled.

Stepping closer, Prowl gently placed his hands on Jazz’s shoulders and ran down his arms slowly, fingers trailing over the joints and seams in his armour, the lines of old medical welds in the plating before coming to a rest on his hands. Picking them up off the berth, which they were gripping tightly, Prowl gave them a squeeze. “Please try to relax. You need to trust yourself.”

“Bit hard when I really just want to put a dagger through your spark,” Jazz replied, his voice on edge, his body tense.

“Describe it to me,” Prowl encouraged, slowly moving his hands back up Jazz’s arms, pausing at his shoulders. “The feeling, how does it build up, does it trigger any memories?”

Jazz’s hands clenched tightly and he tucked them into his lap as Prowl’s fingers ghosted over the sides of his neck and up the back of his helm. “Not exactly, not at first,” he replied, turning his helm slightly, resisting the urge to jerk away from the light touches. Jazz vented air slowly and forced himself to meet Prowl’s gaze as white fingers paused on his plating. “Sometimes it does, not always,” he controlled his intakes, keeping his optics focused on Prowl’s as the other mech’s fingers brushed over his sensitive audio horns.

“What sort of memories does it trigger?’

Jazz shook his helm and offlined his optics. “You don’t want to know that, Prowl, makes the experience worse, I tend to lose control when memories surface,” he clenched his denta as fingers massaged the horns slowly, pulling a whine from Jazz’s vocaliser. “Frag, mech…” he breathed, trailing off as he lost his focused and his processor started feeding him images of times he’d rather not remember. Touches he wanted to forget.

“Jazz…?” Prowl frowned slightly as Jazz trailed off. “Talk to me, Jazz… whatever you’re feeling, you’re safe, focus on me, my voice.”

Jazz balled his hands into fists and punched the berth, intakes hitched as he fought the rage that accompanied memories of missions gone awry, violations he had never spoken about. He shivered as he felt Prowl draw closer, hands running down his chest, still light, non-threatening. He forced himself to listen to the even tenor of Prowl’s voice, it took every last shred of his control to keep listening, to keep focused. If he gave in, Prowl would pay the price, he knew that. This was not going to control him. “Prowl…” his voice was taut, strained.

“Tell me about them,” Prowl replied softly, slowing his touches even more, giving Jazz a little more space as he retracted his field that had been flaring against the smaller mech’s.

“No,” Jazz growled.

“It’s the only way you can heal. Do you want it to control you?” Prowl persisted. “You need to let them go, talk to me.”

“No… I can’t…” Jazz shook his helm, optics still offline as he resisted the encroaching memories and flinched as he remembered the fight, the resistance, the pain, the loathing afterward. “No…”

“Jazz…”

Jazz couldn’t hear Prowl’s voice anymore as he was sucked into places he’d tried to bury deep. His frame shuddered with stimulation, distant and yet so very real. Why did it hurt? Prowl wouldn’t hurt him. Sure the mech had never asked but he was trying to help now, it was different now. He had to fight it. He was not going to be controlled. Another wave of memories and pain rushed through him and Jazz cried out desperately. His whole frame tingled, overload was approaching rapidly but he would not give them that satisfaction. He would fight. Would always fight. “NO!!” He roared and shoved blindly forward, hitting a solid object in his rage and panic. He felt the object crumple at the second vicious strike and he moved with lightning quick reflexes, pinning the fragger to the floor as he drew out his concealed knife and held it high, ready to plunge it into his chest. The fragger would never violate anyone again.

“JAZZ PLEASE STOP!”

The real fear in the voice crying his name, made Jazz falter, his optics unfocused, his hands trembling as reality came flooding back.He stared down at Prowl lying beneath him, hands held up defensively, optics bright with fear. He glanced up at his raised arm and immediately dropped the knife, scrambling off Prowl’s frame. He crawled back until his hood came into contact with the berth and he just stared at Prowl, lying on the floor, intakes rattling as he tried to calm down and Jazz’s hands started to shake with the realisation of what he’d almost done.


	8. Discoveries

“Prowl this is getting dangerous!”

“It is part of the risk of this profession, you are well aware of this, Smokescreen.”

Doorwings flaring out in frustrated anger, Smokescreen continued pacing. “Auggh! For frag’s sake, Prowl! He was going to kill you. He was going to put a knife through your spark. He’s attacked you three times! What will it take for you to see that this is too dangerous?!”

“He stopped.”

“What?”

Prowl looked up into Smokescreen’s exasperated face. “He stopped himself. He regained control. Even you know that means he’s not a lost cause.” Glancing down and idly rubbing over the dent in his chest where Jazz had punched him, Prowl continued softly. “I will not give up on him.”

Smokescreen wilted, doorwings drooping and sat beside Prowl with a sigh. “You know stopping treatment for your own safety isn’t the same as giving up. You shouldn’t consider it a failure,” he spoke more gently, already knowing that once Prowl’s mind was made up, there was no changing it.

“What else could I possibly consider it as?” Prowl replied, giving Smokescreen a sidelong look. “I’m not dismissing your concerns, Smokescreen but we both knew this would not be a standard case,” he paused, venting air slowly. “I’m hoping that this near miss, will be the wake up Jazz needs to see how much he needs help. He did not want to hurt me, Smokescreen, of that much I am certain.”

“Trust you to turn something like this into an advantage for you. You always were good at that, even before the tactician training,” Smokescreen shook his helm. “You’re such a stubborn aft, you know that?”

“I have been told, yes,” Prowl smiled thinly at his friend.

Relenting, Smokescreen nodded. “Alright, but you only do sessions with Jazz  with an enforcer in the room.”

“Out of the question,” Prowl stated firmly. “The sessions are a safe place, an enforcer isn’t deemed as safe. Especially to bots like Jazz.”

“Prowl--” Smokescreen started to protest, only to be stopped by Prowl raising his hand.

“I will station an enforcer outside the room, with an immediate comm link to me so I can call for help should something untoward happen.”

“Well that’s something at least.”

Prowl placed his hand over Smokescreen’s. “He deserves our help. After all he’s been through, I cannot in good conscience leave him alone in the dark, not now that I’ve forced him to remember it,” he explained gently, smiling faintly when Smokescreen turned his hand to give his a light squeeze.

“I know, and I want him to be alright just as much as you do, just…” he looked earnestly into Prowl’s optics. “Please be careful. He’s not the only mech who needs you around, okay?”

Prowl nodded and smiled at his long time friend. “I shall definitely keep it in mind.”

****

“What do you want, mech?”

Prowl stepped closer to the cell, taking in the dejected sight of Jazz sat on his berth, arms resting on his thighs, helm bowed, visor dim. “Are you alright?”

Jazz smirked humourlessly and glanced up at Prowl as he leant back against the wall. “Peachy.”

“Have the enforcers treated you well?”

Jazz shrugged. “Seems some still see you as one of their own. Not that I can blame them really.”

Prowl stepped closer. “If I need to report anyone--”

“--Cool your jets, mech,” Jazz held up his hand. “Is what it is. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

Frowning, Prowl nodded to the guard and the cell field was deactivated. “Of course it matters,” he declared, stepping inside the cell.

Jazz raised an optic ridge when the field didn’t reinitialise. “That wise, Prowler?”

Sitting beside Jazz, Prowl regarded the cell with disinterest. “I know you don’t want to hurt me, nor do you feel like you have anywhere else to run.”

“So sure, huh?”

“Jazz you almost put a knife in my spark and I’m honestly not certain as to who, between the two of us, was shaken up more.”

Frowning slightly, Jazz didn’t really have a response to that. “There’s no point in you being here, you know?” he said quietly, looking at Prowl before bowing his helm once more.

“If you’re referring to your self scheduled reformatting appointment, then rest assured it has been cancelled and the center have been informed never to accept a self made appointment.”

Scowling at Prowl, Jazz vented air loudly. “You can’t do that.”

“I can and I have,” Prowl replied coolly. “I am your therapist and you are clearly under mental duress that impairs your logical thought processes. Once they were informed of your situation, they were more than amenable,” Prowl met Jazz’s gaze with a vaguely smug smile. “You have been released into my custody once more, shall we?”

Jazz stared, mouth gaping as Prowl got up and exited the cell, pausing just outside and turning slightly as he waited for him to follow. “Stubborn aft fraggin’ glitch,” he muttered as he joined Prowl outside the cell. “You’re crazier than I am.”

Prowl’s smile widened slightly and his optics brightened a fraction with faint amusement. “For this profession,” he nodded to the enforcer and strolled towards the exit with Jazz falling into step beside him, “it’s a requirement.”

****

Jazz looked around the modest apartment and turned to face Prowl with a faint smirk. “Something wrong with my digs?”

Folding his arms, Prowl gave him a pointed look. “I checked, you don’t have any.”

Humming in response, sort of glad that Prowl had lost none of his edge, Jazz nodded and continued exploring his new, if temporary, home. “It’s nice, I’m betting this isn’t covered in the budget though.”

Doorwings flicking in Prowl’s version of a shrug, the Praxian sat down on one of the nearby seats. “You needn’t worry about that,” he stated.

“Need to have a word with Optimus I think,” Jazz murmured, knowing full well who was funding his treatment.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Prowl frowned with disapproval. “You are not putting anybody out so I need you to stop thinking that you are.”

Face screwing up at the admonishment, Jazz sat down heavily and gave Prowl a sharp look. “Why are you doing this?”

“It is my job.”

Jazz scoffed. “This is more than just a job, mech, if I were say, Soundwave would you still continue treating me after I’d nearly put a knife in your spark?” At Prowl’s ensuing silence, Jazz nodded in understanding. “So why me, why are you doing this?”

Averting his gaze, Prowl remained quiet for a few kliks. The silence dragged on so long, Jazz almost gave up on getting an answer and was actually surprised when Prowl spoke again.

“I feel like I owe it to you, to do everything I can to help…”

Jazz stared in disbelief. “Owe it to me?” he repeated incredulously. “What the frag, mech, you don’t owe me anything,” he frowned.

Gazing down at his hands, Prowl hesitated before replying. “The second in command to Prime is responsible for the welfare of the Autobots under his command,” he stated, reciting the age old regulation. Meeting Jazz’s gaze he gave him a wry smile. “That is a portion of my duties that I am aware I neglected.”

Not quite believing what he was hearing, Jazz canted his helm at Prowl. “Mech, you kept us alive in battle, you made sure that more of us returned alive than didn’t,” he frowned scooting closer to the edge of his seat. “Is that what you’re doing? Fixing us, one mech at a time?”

Prowl didn’t answer and simply looked away, doorwings giving a tell tale quiver before he could stop them.

“Prowler, mech, you can’t save everyone.”

Smiling faintly, Prowl nodded. “But I can help you… if you let me.”

Jazz chuckled ruefully and sat back in his chair. “You’re not really giving me much choice here,” he shook his helm at Prowl’s obvious displeasure with his reply. “Trust me, if I didn’t want help, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Good,” Prowl declared, relief ebbing from his frame, evident in his doorwings as they dropped on his back and fluttered slightly.

Jazz smiled, liking how much more expressive Prowl was with his wings. It intrigued him and made him think about how hard it must’ve been for Prowl to keep them so rigid for so long back when he was SIC. The movements seemed so natural, so in tune with his mannerisms that Jazz learned more about him the more he watched them.

At Prowl’s positivity with his continuing treatment, Jazz felt, for the first time since he could remember, hope for a brighter future.

****

Jazz’s next few sessions were much less eventful and Prowl began peeling back the surface of the memories that triggered Jazz’s rage and discomfort with physical contact. Jazz spoke of torture, violations he’d endured in the name of the Autobot cause, most of which had left Prowl shocked and saddened that he’d kept it all bottled up for so long.

The next couple of tactile sessions progressed slowly and as promised the enforcer was placed outside. Jazz was made fully aware of his presence and had even requested restraints, to which Prowl had refused. Restraining a patient during a supposedly enjoyable experience defeated the purpose of the treatment. Jazz had tried to argue but had conceded the point when Prowl had refused to budge.

Prowl decided to attempt a different approach with the tactile therapy and they had started simply by just holding hands with Prowl encouraging Jazz to talk about anything that weighed on his processor. Then he made Jazz instruct him as to what he wanted next and where to touch him. With this staggered and time consuming approach, Jazz managed to control his anxiety and subsequent rage as he was in complete control of what Prowl did and where he touched. After a few sessions using this method, Jazz finally achieved overload.

“Frag…”

Prowl tilted his helm at the breathy comment and regarded Jazz with mild concern. “You’re okay?”

Jazz nodded and hummed, his sensor net tingling from the overload that had been slow to build. Prowl had scheduled him for a double session to ensure that they had had enough time and now he was just lying on the berth, intakes panting in an effort to cool his frame down. The anxiety he’d felt in the beginning had long since dissipated and even Prowl’s close proximity, lying beside him, didn’t fill him with trepidation. Primus it felt good to overload at somebody else’s hands rather than his own again.

“How do you feel?” Prowl asked, lying on his side, observing Jazz closely. He maintained a short distance between them but was close enough to still feel the buzz rippling through Jazz’s energy field.

“Tingly,” Jazz grinned at the dead panned look Prowl gave him in return. Turning onto his side, he sighed softly and his grin melted into a grateful smile. “I feel…. unmurderous.”

Prowl chuckled and relaxed. “That is not even a word,” he stated mildly.

“Well it should be,” Jazz replied airily, his fingers tentatively brushing over the bumper of Prowl’s chest. He could feel the thrum of his internal systems, the heat emanating from his aroused frame. No matter what his rules were, Prowl was obviously still affected by his sessions. Jazz had to admire his self control, restraint and his ability to hide his own physical wants. “Why do you have that rule anyway?”

Prowl raised an optic ridge curiously. “Which one?”

“The no overload one?”

“Ah. It’s because I don’t feel my patients should be burdened with the obligation to please another when they are only just relearning how to please themselves. It would be too much pressure.”

“What if they wanted to, they asked to?”

“I would say no,” Prowl replied succinctly, pushing up to sitting and swinging his legs off the berth.

Jazz frowned as Prowl pulled away. “But it’s a choice, right?”

“Jazz…”

“Just answer the question. This is your personal rule, isn’t it? Smokes’ doesn’t employ it nor others of your profession am I right?” Jazz persisted, sensing there was something more to this rule that he wasn’t immediately seeing.

Prowl stood up and took a moment before regarding Jazz with a steady, firm gaze. “Yes, it’s personal. No, I will not make exceptions,” moving away he picked up his datapad and made a few notes.

“Why?”

Prowl started, surprised to see Jazz standing directly in front of him, within his personal space. He hadn’t even heard him move. Definitely credit to his special ops training, Prowl mused, some mechs never lost the skills. “It is personal,” he smiled and gestured to the door. “There is a recovery area, if you need to refuel and take a few kliks. You made good progress today, Jazz.”

Jazz pursed his lips and frowned. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I believe I answered the question quite adequately.”

“It’s personal, isn’t an answer.”

Chuckling with amusement, Prowl headed for his desk and sat behind it as he reviewed his notes. “Just because you don’t like the answer doesn’t mean that it isn’t an answer.”

Jazz came to stand on the other side of the desk. “You’re being evasive.”

“Now you’re an expert on behaviour?” Prowl glanced up at him, doorwings twitching on his back before going completely still.

Jazz noted the change in movement and internally smirked, Prowl was hiding something. “Well it was part of my job.”

“You are not special ops anymore, Jazz,” Prowl declared matter of factly as he returned to reading his notes.

“If I’m the patient, and I think pleasing you to the point of overload would be beneficial to my treatment and you refuse, I have every right to know why you’re refusing my request,” Jazz flashed him a dazzling, disarming smile.

Prowl stiffened and inhaled slowly, doorwings rigid on his back. “I do not have to explain the regulations that I have imposed upon myself and my patients while in my office undergoing treatment. If you are dissatisfied with your therapy as it stands and require methods that I for whatever reason, do not provide, then please, by all means; seek another psychologist to continue your therapy. I will fully endorse the transfer,” Prowl snapped, optics remaining fixed on the datapad in front of him, pointedly ignoring Jazz’s completely shocked expression as irritation rippled through him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another session to prepare for.”

Jazz knew a dismissal when he heard one and clamped his mouth shut, pivoted on his heel and marched from the office. Prowl’s, terse yet obviously annoyed outburst had taken him by surprise. He frowned as he closed the door behind him and nodded to the enforcer who went on his way. Even if Prowl had been so easily irritated before he never showed it. Prowl now was much more expressive and Jazz knew that he’d hit a sore point. Glancing back at the closed door, he pouted slightly and turned towards Smokescreen’s office. If anyone would know what the deal was with ‘the rule’ then Smokescreen would.

 


	9. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl indulges in some 'me' time and Jazz learns something that changes everything.

“I’m glad you came,” Optimus smiled at the Praxian who bowed slightly before him. “Prowl, please, you never need to bow to me,” he smiled resting a hand on his shoulder.

Prowl returned the friendly smile. “I was in the vicinity, visiting a patient on their request,” he stated, accepting the offered cube of energon.

“You make house calls?”

“Not exactly, my patient is a special case and has a hefty schedule, I offered and I needed the break.”

Optimus’ smile widened. “I’m glad to hear you take breaks now,” he chuckled.

“I presume you called me here to ask about Jazz?”

Ducking his helm, Optimus nodded. “Can still read me as well as you used to,” he smirked, giving Prowl a sidelong glance. “Yes, I know you can’t divulge details of your patients or their sessions but I’ve heard some--”

“--I am surprised you would listen to gossip, Optimus,” Prowl chided gently with a faint smirk as the former Prime grimaced sheepishly. “I understand you are concerned for Jazz’s well-being and are responsible for his treatment so I can tell you he is making progress and not to worry.”

Smiling, Optimus nodded and relaxed. “And how have you been?”

The two mechs chatted amicably over mid-grade for a while until Optimus called it an evening and bid Prowl goodnight. Heading out, Prowl was met by the twins who were now off shift.

“Where you headed?” Sideswipe asked, earning a slight frown from his brother at the forward question. To which Sideswipe pulled a face and shrugged back.

“Back to my hotel for the evening. I’ll be heading back to Praxus next cycle, I only came to visit a patient and Optimus,” Prowl replied.

“Huh…” Sideswipe responded, glancing at his brother who nodded at him with a slight grin, nudging him slightly. Sideswipe shook his helm and frowned subtly pointing at his brother, who pulled a scornful face and lightly swatted his brother’s arm.

Amused by their almost subtle exchange, Prowl stopped in his tracks and regarded them with a faint smirk. “What is the problem?”

“Oohh,” Sideswipe squirmed a little and shook his helm. “Not really a problem… more of a um… question.”

“Soo what is your question,” Prowl prompted.

Sunstreaker huffed a sigh of air and stepped forward. “Come out with us? You’re free, we’re free and it’ll be fun,” he declared resolutely.

Optics brightening in surprise, Prowl thought about it for a klik.

“You don’t have to, you know, no obligation… we know you’re busy and--”

“--I would like that,” he answered, interrupting Sideswipe’s backtrack.

Pleasantly surprised, the twins shared a look. “Really?”

“Yes, lead the way,” Prowl smiled.

“Excellent,” Sideswipe replied, falling into step beside Prowl with his brother on the other side of the mech as they discussed locations.

Prowl remained quiet, he didn’t really have much knowledge of Iacon, not anymore and so trusted the twins to pick the most suitable location. In hindsight he would realise this had been somewhat naive.

****

The evening had gone rather well, the twins had enjoyed themselves with Prowl and it was nice learning more about the mech that had thrown them in the brig more times than even they could recall. To them he was still the same Prowl just a little less prickly around the edges and he had enjoyed listening to their stories.

The high grade had been flowing and each mech had had his fair share, although none could say he was exceptionally overcharged. In full control of their faculties, the twins decided to ask if Prowl would like to have a bit more fun with them. They had fully expected him to say no and so when he had replied with a yes and had invited them back to his hotel room, Sunstreaker had ended up covered in Sideswipe’s high grade as the mech spat it out in surprise.

“Could we move faster?” the golden mech groused, following Prowl up the stairway to his room. “I’m pretty sure I can feel this stuff corroding my finish,” he complained, picking at the dried flecks of pink high grade.

Sideswipe simply snickered and ignored him, pushing past Prowl into the suite when he opened the door. “Very nice,” he mused, looking around the room.

“The wash rack is over there,” Prowl pointed to the far corner, giving Sunstreaker a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks,” the golden twin, grumbled shoving his brother half-sparkedly out of the way.

Sideswipe grinned at Prowl’s frown. “Don’t mind him, he’ll be fine once he’s cleaned up,” his grin morphed into a predatory smile and he approached the smaller mech. “Got to admit, didn’t think you’d take us up on the offer,” he murmured, trailing fingers over Prowl’s plating as he circled him slowly.

“I don’t see why I would not,” Prowl glanced over his shoulder at the red mech who had stopped to tease the edges of his doorwings. “You are both attractive and have not shown me any ill will.”

Sideswipe’s optics brightened. “You think we’re attractive?”

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“No just not something I ever considered.  Did you always?”

Prowl canted his helm thoughtfully. “I must have done, my emotional and visual centers were not compromised, my innate desires and needs probably remained quite similar,” he answered matter of factly.

Taking advantage of the moment, Sideswipe smirked and pressed against Prowl’s back, dipping his helm to mouth over his throat, hands splaying over the front of his doorwings, massaging the smooth metal slowly. His engine revved when Prowl let out a low mewl in response. Prowl was quite responsive and vocal, something else he never would have expected. Not that he was complaining.

Prowl for the most part was surprised at himself. He normally only ever interfaced with Smokescreen outside of work and only then as a necessity because he’d waited too long to release the excessive charge from his sessions. The last time he had been in Iacon, the twins had invited him out and he had accepted but only for one cube, this cycle he felt different, like he needed a release, to the point where his usual trepidation was but a distant thought at the back of his processor. What he needed was a distraction from work. Jazz was a confounding case that played on his processor and he wanted an evening where he wasn’t mulling over the complications revolving around the Polyhexian.

“Starting without me, huh?” Sunstreaker smirked as he stepped out of the washrack, plating glistening with droplets. “Sides’ you feeling generous? You saved me the best part,” he purred as he approached, hands roaming up over Prowl’s chest, thumbs teasing at the glass of his headlights as he pressed flush against him.”

“You know how I feel about doorwings,” Sideswipe grinned widely over Prowl’s shoulder.

“I mmh, get the feeling you two have been planning this,” Prowl murmured, intakes beginning to pant as the twins’ hands moved constantly over his body, fingers wriggling into seams, caressing sensitive ports.

“Not really planning, more fantasising and only since we saw you again that first time,” Sunstreaker smiled, running a fingertip over Prowl’s striking red chevron and down his cheek, curling under his chin to tilt his helm up towards him as he leant in for a kiss.

Sideswipe watched with bright optics, growling softly with want as Sunstreaker deepened the kiss. “And it’s always been a secret fantasy of ours anyway,” he murmured against Prowl’s audio, arousal rushing through him as Prowl mewled into the kiss with his brother.

Breaking the kiss, Sunstreaker hummed approvingly and mouthed playfully over his lips. “Frag you’re hot,” he grinned, grabbing Prowl’s collar fairing and tugging him suddenly towards the berth.

Prowl gasped in surprise but allowed the twins to pull him onto the berth. Sunstreaker tugged him flush and chuckled when he tried to shift only for Sideswipe to lie flush over him, trapping Prowl between them.

“Praxian sandwich,” Sideswipe laughed deeply, glossa snaking out to lick the point of Prowl’s chevron. “My favourite,” he growled softly, grinding against Prowl’s aft wantonly.

Shivering at their attentions, Prowl wasn’t one to just lie down and take it, his fingers raked over Sunstreaker’s fins, earning a guttural growl from the golden mech and he flared his field against Sideswipe’s, smirking when he felt the red mech shudder above him.

Sideswipe wasted no time and ran his hand down Prowl’s back, pulling back to playfully steal a grope of his aft before slipping his hand between his legs and raking his fingers over the closed panel. “Open,” he demanded heatedly, kissing between the hinges of his doorwings, glossa flicking over the joints, eliciting a low moan from Prowl.

Prowl obliged, quite caught up in the moment and enjoying it for a change. It was nice to let go, to not worry about holding back. It was honestly nice, he had to admit, to be wanted this way. Smokescreen interfaced with him as a favour, they were friends, their attraction was more mutual respect than anything physical but the twins had asked him and had instigated their tryst, which Prowl intended to take full advantage of.

Sunstreaker rocked up as he felt the heat emanating from Prowl’s exposed components and slid a hand between them to massage his hard spike. “It bodes well for you that you’re so eager,” he teased playfully, thumb rubbing over the head of Prowl’s length, optics darkening at the resulting groan of pleasure escaping Prowl’s parted mouth.

Prowl inhaled sharply as he felt fingers dip into his valve, with both twins molesting his components he wasn’t sure which one it was and he didn’t care. They both knew exactly what they were doing and Prowl’s sensor net zinged with pleasure, components throbbing at the stimulation.

Smirking up at just how keen and into it he was, Sunstreaker parted his legs, his own panel sliding back allowing his erect spike to spring to attention, his valve slick and clenching with anticipation. Gripping Prowl’s spike, he massaged it slowly, enjoying the noises it pulled from the Praxian and guided it to his valve. He was pleasantly surprised when Prowl removed his hand and pinned both of them to the berth before rocking his hips against him. Sunstreaker inhaled sharply and his intakes hitched as his valve was suddenly stretched and filled. A low groan escaped his vocaliser as he felt the hot, hard length sinking deep into his valve.

Sideswipe grabbed the opportunity as Prowl was distracted with his brother and knelt up behind him, hands sliding up over his back, raking over the hinges to his doors. Curling his fingers about Prowl’s shoulders, Sideswipe lined them up and thrust his hips, burying his spike into Prowl in one smooth motion, growling as his length was squeezed. “Frag, Prowl… so tight… and hot, Primus!” he exclaimed, curling over him, mouthing against the back of his throat, smiling smugly down at his brother as Prowl keened at the sudden invasion of his valve.

The twins shared a smile. This was going to be fun. It wasn’t easy for the twins to find another who could keep up with them in the berth together and they were going to take full advantage of Prowl’s willingness, both of them determined to pleasure him thoroughly.

Starting off slower than they normally would, the twins rolled their hips alternately. Sideswipe burying his spike deep inside Prowl, in turn burying Prowl deep inside his brother and Sunstreaker rocked his hips upwards to keep Prowl trapped between them and his spike buried to the hilt in his valve. They built up slowly, hands and mouths constantly caressing the Praxian sandwiched between them, who could do little more than rock his hips with them. When the pleasure and the sensations started overriding their senses they picked up the pace, their control fraying.

Soon Sideswipe was pounding hard into Prowl with heady grunts of pleasure, clinging onto him, raking over the very accessible doorwings framing either side of him. Sunstreaker was panting heavily as Prowl thrust deep into him, tapping the roof of his valve, repeatedly, sending waves of pleasure rippling through him. The intensity was doubled by his brother’s thrusts, forcing Prowl deeper, reducing the Praxian atop of him to a quivering, whimpering mass of parts. It wasn’t long before they were writhing together. The sounds of metal scraping against metal, growls and lowly moans of pleasure filled the room as they chased down their overloads.

Prowl toppled over that edge first, arching between them almost painfully, hollering his ecstatic release to the ceiling. His cries faded to mewling whimpers as the twins continued to rock into him. Sunstreaker followed, roaring out his overload, fingers digging into white and dark blue plating as pleasurable release wracked his body. Sideswipe wasn’t far behind and being the quietest of the three, he stiffened and grunted, biting down onto the edge of a doorwing as his whole frame trembled, spike jerking forcefully inside Prowl as it emptied its contents.

For a while they lay in sated bliss, piled on top of one another, changing position when it became too uncomfortable. Eventually their silence was replaced with idle conversation and playful gropes of one another’s plating. Doorwings were an easy target but so were helm horns and fins and it wasn’t too long before their interactions devolved into another round of interfacing. Slower and more tender than the first but just as intense. Then another and another.

Prowl lost count of how many times he’d overloaded, sandwiched between the twins but after their last lazy bout of interfacing, with him lying on his side, a mech behind and a mech in front of him; he slipped into a satisfied recharge almost immediately. The twins weren’t awake too long after and remained where they were, falling into recharge curled almost possessively and protectively around the slightly smaller Praxian. The night had been immense fun. No awkward silences nor unspoken feelings. Just three mechs who had indulged their attraction - and their secretly long held fantasies - for one another. It would definitely be a memory to relive and one they hoped Prowl would recall with a smile.

****

Jazz had had a good long chat with Smokescreen and now was a little clearer on the rule. Prowl still had a few hangups that he’d never lost from his past and certain memories that had remained. It had made it difficult for the Praxian to trust, Jazz could relate to that. As a result, Prowl had simply decided to focus on his work and only interfaced when he absolutely had to, making sure never to engage romantically with anyone. Apparently old habits died hard, Jazz mused to himself, the old Prowl had been much the same way, although Jazz couldn’t picture him interfacing with anyone. Ever. Not from lack of trying though. He also couldn’t help the jealous pang he felt knowing that to prevent excess energy build up, Smokescreen and Prowl interfaced on a semi-regular basis. He knew there weren’t any feelings beyond friendship for the both of them but it still got under his plating. He couldn’t really put his finger on why and the obvious reason he’d dismissed outright.

Lounging in Prowl’s office before his session, Jazz took the time to poke around the mech’s desk. Prowl never left sensitive information on his desk, he knew that but it wasn’t his patients he was interested in anymore. Prowl was far more intriguing than any of them. Flopping in Prowl’s chair, he un-subspaced the crystal he’d been carrying and set it on the desk. He had thought to ask Prowl about it but Smokescreen had disapproved of that idea, saying that Prowl wouldn’t remember and why would he want to ask Prowl anyway, it wasn’t like the crystal had been his. Jazz sighed, he was as perplexed about the crystal as he had been when Prowl had given it to him. What did it mean? Why him? Did it mean anything? Knowing Jazz’s luck, he was probably making something out of nothing, a large part of him really hoped not though.

“Jazz.”

The black and white’s gaze shot up as Prowl entered the room and he grinned innocently at the mech. “I’m not touching anything I swear,” he replied, holding up his hands.

“Out of the chair,” Prowl commanded amiably, giving Jazz and appraising look.

Jazz pushed himself up and hopped over the desk, much to Prowl’s chagrin.

“You forgot your crystal,” Prowl picked up the item from his desk and held it out to Jazz, optics subtly flicking over it.

“Thanks, I’m keeping it safe for someone, I’m sure he’d be mighty fragged off if I told him I’d left it in my therapist’s office,” Jazz smiled as he accepted the crystal.

“Indeed, that is rare Praxian crystal, it probably carries significant sentimental value, I’m surprised anyone would give it to you for safe keeping,” Prowl commented.

“You saying I’m not safe?” Jazz smirked.

Prowl simply raised on optic ridge and gave Jazz a deadpan look. “Do I really need to answer that question?”

Laughing, Jazz shook his helm. “Nah, I can tell when you’re kidding, I think,” he added with a suspicious glance at the now half smiling Praxian. “So you know about crystals huh?”

“I have read up on their history. A lack of memory is not an excuse for ignorance about one’s own culture,” Prowl replied sitting behind his desk.

Placing the crystal between them, Jazz sat opposite and regarded Prowl curiously. “So what can you tell me about this one then?”

Looking at the crystal more purposefully, Prowl hummed thoughtfully and picked it up, rotating it in his hands carefully as he examined it. “This is very rare, Jazz, possibly custom grown,” he declared with no small amount of awe.

Jazz nodded, seeming interest, that wasn’t anything Smokescreen hadn’t already told him. “Why would someone give this as a keep safe?” he asked leadingly.

Placing it back on his desk, Prowl canted his helm. “A gesture of deep affection, possibly with a promise of more or at the very least a longing,” Prowl smiled up at Jazz who was now staring at him intently. “By your expression I’m going to assume that you didn’t know of the mech’s feelings towards you.”

“You got that right,” Jazz murmured, looking down at the crystal. “And you’ve never seen anything like this before?” he asked, optics flicking up to Prowl behind his visor, watching him closely.

Shaking his helm, Prowl’s doorwings twitched. “Not that I can recall, no,” he replied simply. “Are you ready to begin your session?” he asked after a short silence.

Jazz wanted to tell him, come clean but he knew in his spark that Prowl as he was now, who in all fairness barely knew him, would reject him, would not feel the same. He felt a pang in his spark that hadn’t been there before, a longing for something he never knew he could have had. The universe was just too unfair at times and he felt some of his old anger bubbling up through the cracks in his healing psyche.

“Jazz…?” Prowl prompted gently with a little more concern.

Snapping out of his daze, Jazz gave Prowl a wan smile. “I ah, can’t… that’s why I came early. Need to reschedule,” he got up and quickly headed for the door. “I’ll call you, let you know when I’ve sorted my stuff,” he looked back at Prowl before ducking out of the door.

Frowning at the quick exit, Prowl’s optics dropped down to the crystal and he grabbed it as he rushed to the door. “Jazz!” He called out to the mech as he reached the elevator at the end of the corridor. “You forgot--!” the doors slid closed before Jazz had seen or heard him and Prowl let his hand holding the crystal drop down, “--your crystal…” he finished with a confused murmur. Giving the inanimate object a scrutinising glance, Prowl pursed his lip components. He could only surmise that Jazz’s downturn in mood had something to do with what he’d revealed about the crystal. He would need to do more research on it, perhaps he would even uncover the owner. Somebody he now felt was a key to unlocking the tangled, complicated mess that was Jazz. Possibly one that would help expedite Jazz’s recovery.

 


	10. History

When Jazz didn’t show up for his next appointment, or the one after, Prowl got worried. He had been making such progress, why would he just throw that away? “Smokescreen,” Prowl stepped into Smokescreen’s office with a frown, instantly concerning the blue and yellow mech.

“Prowl, what’s up?”

“Have you heard from Jazz?”

“No… he took off, stopped staying at my place a while ago,” Smokescreen put down his stylus and regarded Prowl worriedly. “I thought you knew. Has he not been for his sessions?”

Venting air slowly, Prowl shook his helm. “No, he’s missed two, no message, no contact and does not answer his comm.”

“He was making progress,” Smokescreen replied in confusion.

“He was,” Prowl nodded. “He left very quickly after leaving me his crystal.”

Smokescreen’s optics brightened. “Oh he showed me that, it’s rare, Praxian, said he was keeping it safe for someone,” he canted his helm at Prowl. “Did you say anything about it?”

“He asked what I thought it meant that he’d been given it, so I explained, then he left without explanation,” sitting opposite Smokescreen, Prowl shook his helm. “I should have been more careful.”

“What did you say exactly?”

“I told him that something like that would only be given to signify a promise or a longing on the part of the giver for the receiver,” his doorwings wilted. “I should have been more sensitive.”

Smokescreen’s mouth twisted slightly. “Did you find out who the crystal might’ve belonged to? Maybe that’s a key to a lot of Jazz’s issues if he reacted so strongly to learning the owner might have had feelings for him.”

“Not really, the familial records were mostly destroyed when Praxus fell, there isn’t much left,” Prowl answered forlornly.

“Try the Iaconian library, when Praxus was attacked I remember you saying that you helped organise a massive information dump of Praxus’s databanks into a repository of the Grand Library, it’s worth a shot right?”

Optics brightening, Prowl nodded. “I was certainly one for forward thinking,” he replied hopefully.

Smokescreen nodded. “And a great majority of us are grateful for that,” he smiled at his friend. “Let me know what you find?”

“I will,” Prowl got up and headed out, focused in his new direction of research. First things first, he had to find the elusive Jazz.

****

Prowl had had no success in finding Jazz and had instead headed to Iacon. He went immediately to the central library and made his way through the vast labyrinthine hallways to the Praxian section. An entire floor had been dedicated to the almost extinct culture and it had been transformed into a library come museum. Taking a klik to admire the artefacts of his forgotten past, Prowl looked around before heading to the nearest console.

Keying in his identification to make the process of requesting information easier, Prowl was surprised when the console beeped.

Access granted all areas. Welcome back first Lieutenant Prowl.

His former designation. The systems hadn’t been updated. Glancing around, Prowl pressed the ‘secured areas’ tab. This was an unprecedented opportunity to learn more about his past and hopefully gain some much valued insight into Jazz. In the secured files, he found all of his old logs, logs he’d been told had been destroyed. He found Prime’s logs, medical files, mission reports that hadn’t been submitted officially. This was everything he’d ever worked on during the war, it was his own personal stockpile of information. Why had he dumped it all here? Sensing that the library security would start becoming suspicious if he spent too long in such a highly classified and restricted section, Prowl copied everything he could and exited the system. He would take it back to read in his hotel. He would make better sense of everything once he’d had time to read through everything, starting primarily with those logs.

Prowl couldn’t help but feel guilty, instead of concentrating on finding a way to help Jazz by maybe finding the owner of the crystal, he was instead delving into his own past, reading through each log hungrily, yearning for more as he learnt more about the mech he had been and the war he didn’t remember fighting.

That’s when he saw it, or rather he read it. Scrolling back he re-read the section again and clicked on the available link. He’d spent the entire cycle reading his own logs, his personal accounts of the war with fascination and quite often mortification. He had been cold, calculating but not entirely unfeeling. He’d learned he’d struggled with a number of the harder decisions he’d had to make and struggled with them silently, alone. There were mention of some he had trusted, respected and Jazz’s name came up more than frequently. It made Prowl grateful in a way that he’d been spared the horrors of his past but that he had been a mech who had lived his life alone, in isolation and had been forced to continue even when the last thing he wanted to do was to help run an army.

He opened the final log before his shuttle accident and frowned at what he’d written.

_“I feel that Prime is acting rashly in this instance. He hasn’t thought this through completely and any argument I presented was immediately dismissed. Megatron is pressing harder now, as a leader he has no choice. They are good mechs coming with me, I would even call them friends, we have served together for so long. It’s just a routine shuttle run and yet my spark is unsettled. It has been too quiet.”_

He had had misgivings about the mission from the beginning. Prowl knew Prime would have read his public log, it was probably another reason the mech still felt the need to atone. Prowl had never been one to point fingers though, he had followed his orders and had remained loyal to his Prime to the last, as had always been his choice and intention. Clicking on the private log, Prowl felt his optics dimming with fatigue.

_“I had thought that he would be coming with us, I am both relieved and somewhat disappointed that he is not. Given my unease about this particular journey however, it is probably better that he remains on the base. He was as usual not pleased about this, nor about my summoning him. His indifference and occasional hostile demeanour towards me is to be expected and is familiar to me now. Doesn’t get any easier. With this ongoing war, I have come to realise many things, not least of which any of us could be deactivated at any moment. I’m not sure he understood what it was I was giving him. I’m not entirely certain I understand it myself. I felt…. I simply felt I must reach out once, no matter how illogical. It was the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t raise too many questions from a non-Praxian_

_I hope that I get the chance to explain it upon my return.”_

Prowl sat up on his berth with a frown. He had given Jazz something right before he’d left. Could it be? Prowl stared at the datapad and his optics brightened as slowly everything clicked into place.

It all made sense now.

****

Prowl had looked everywhere for Jazz and it was only through his old contacts in the enforcers and former Autobot soldiers that he managed to at least locate some of Jazz’s old haunts. They had only been known to a few as Jazz had kept very much to himself after Prime had passed and Rodimus had taken over and then he’d dropped off the map altogether, leaving a frustrated Prowl standing in a run down bar, wondering why anybody bothered coming here at all. It was the very opposite of comforting.

Approaching the bartender who looked at him warily, Prowl braced himself for another disappointment. Nobody had seen or heard from Jazz and he was beginning to lose hope he would ever return.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked gruffly.

“Hopefully you can provide me with some information,” Prowl replied amicably, pulling out the image file he had of Jazz.

“It’ll cost you,” the bartender replied firmly.

Prowl had been expecting as much, this was a poorer area of Cybertron after all, some parts of the planet hadn’t benefited from the golden age. “How much?”

The bartender placed a bottle of high grade in front of him and slid him a datapad with the expenses on it without a word. Staring down at the datapad, Prowl’s optics brightened. “You can’t be serious?” he looked up at the bartender sharply. Giving him a shrug, he pointed to a rusty old sign behind him.

‘No bribes. No enforcers!’

“But I’m not…” Prowl started before shaking his helm and pinching his nasal bridge. “Never mind, here,” he handed his credit chip over and the bartender gave him a nod. Sitting down at the bar, Prowl waited for the bartender to return. “Now please could you tell me if you have seen this mech and maybe where I could find him?”

The bartender took the picture and glanced at it. “What’s it to you?”

“He’s a… an old friend, I’m worried for him, he’s disappeared,” Prowl replied, optics dimming as he accepted the pad back.

After a short while the bartender relented. “Yeah he’s been here, not for a few cycles though. You might try the old crash site,” he answered, giving a surprised Prowl a nod. “Don’t forget your high grade, mech likes to knock it back some,” he added with a knowing smirk.

Thanking the mech, Prowl grabbed the bottle and shoved it into his subspace quickly as he dashed outside. The old crash site? He looked around and frowned in dismay. Everything was newly built or in the process of being built, there was no sign of a crash site. Heading to the side street by the side of the bar, Prowl stopped. The bar backed onto what looked like a construction site. There was something disturbingly familiar about it though and he found himself approaching slowly. His feet crunched over old rusty metal and Prowl peered down at what looked like the remains of an outer hull of a ship.

Moving forward, Prowl looked around the area. It was a really old site and some way off there was a small building, it looked like a memorial. Prowl headed over to it with a curious frown, there was nobody at the crash site itself but Prowl remained hopeful that Jazz was still lurking somewhere nearby.

The building inside was only dimly lit and dusty. There was a low humming sound of a generator and Prowl headed to a wall that had what lights there were shining on it. “Primus,” he whispered. The wall was one of remembrance for the victims of the crash, a handful of the millions that had been lost in the great war. His fingers ran lightly over the glyphs that spelled out Ratchet’s name, Ironhide’s, his name. He drew back with a sharp inhalation, finally fully realising what this place was. He had refused to return to it when First Aid and then Smokescreen had offered, he hadn’t seen the point. This was where he had died. Or had almost died along with his ship mates.

“They tend not to update things so fast in these parts of the world,” came a quiet murmur from the back of the room, causing Prowl to whirl around on the spot in surprise.

“Jazz! Primus’ sake, where have you been?” he exclaimed, taking a step towards the mech sat against the back wall of the dark room.

“Here,” Jazz replied simply, visor glowing dimly in the shadow. “Nobody ever comes here, needed some space,” he added with a sigh, looking past Prowl at the wall.

Frowning and approaching the seemingly dejected mech, Prowl crouched down in front of him and carried out a passive scan. “How long have you been here, Jazz? You’re under fuelled.

Jazz gave him a vague shrug. “Don’t really know, mech, I turned my chronometer off,” he peered at Prowl as though registering his presence for the first time. “How did you find me?”

“Sheer stubborn determination, let me assure you,” Prowl replied dryly. Taking out the bottle of high grade, he poured some of the contents into a spare cube he always carried out of habit. “Here, drink this, it’ll help,” he commanded, placing the cube firmly into Jazz’s hand. “Sip it!” he hissed as Jazz proceeded to gulp the cube down in one.

Looking down at the cube in puzzlement, Jazz peered up at Prowl. “Did you just give me high grade?”

Preparing for the worst when the strong energon hit Jazz’s tank, Prowl grimaced apologetically. “Yes, it’s all I had, in my defence most mechs don’t drink a full cube in one go,” he immediately grabbed Jazz to help support him when the mech lurched over to his side and purged his tank. Leaning over him in concern, Prowl gently rubbed his back, trying to offer some sort of comfort as Jazz’s systems completely rejected the sudden influx of strong energon into his severely depleted systems.

Sitting back with a grunt, Jazz wiped his face with the back of his arm and threw Prowl an incredulous look as he offered him another cube.

“Slowly, this time,” Prowl insisted somewhat sympathetically.

“Pretty sure you’re trying to kill me,” Jazz muttered as he reluctantly accepted the cube and sipped the energon slowly from the container.

Prowl raised an optic ridge and lowered himself to sit beside Jazz against the wall. “If I wanted to kill you, there are far more inventive and less incriminating methods at my disposal,” he replied with a faint smirk.

Jazz gave Prowl a sidelong look, somewhat taken aback by the response. “Prowl… are you trying to be funny?”

“Merely stating a fact,” came the dead panned response.

Letting himself laugh, Jazz shook his helm. “Well I’ll be,” he murmured, looking up at the memorial wall. They settled into a comfortable silence as Jazz sipped his energon.

“Jazz…?”

“Mm?”

“Why do you come here?” Prowl asked softly.

Visor dimming, Jazz looked down at the floor. “You think you know a mech after fighting alongside him for vorns but then, when everything gets ripped from you, you realise you never knew him at all, didn’t even give him a chance to show you, didn’t care to…”

Prowl listened and knew he had to at least try to close this chapter in Jazz’s life. It had held him back from so much, something he’d kept inside, eating at him until all he had felt was guilt and rage and loathing. “I brought something for you,” he replied softly.

Jazz gave him a wry grin. “More high grade?” he laughed shortly, his smile fading when Prowl pulled out the crystal he’d left in his office. Sadly he pushed Prowl’s hand away as he offered him the crystal. “Doesn’t belong to me,” he whispered.

“I know,” Prowl answered, holding out a datapad with his other hand. “But in light of the circumstances given, I really don’t think it was ever intended for you to return it.”

Giving Prowl a quizzical glance, Jazz accepted the datapad and read the contents. His intakes hitched when he’d finished and he dropped the datapad to the ground, pushing up to his feet and taking a few urgent steps away from Prowl. “Do you remember?”

Shaking his helm and lowering his gaze, Prowl hated that he did not. “No,” he looked up at Jazz who had turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Jazz,” he murmured, pushing up to his feet. “But from what I do understand about Praxian culture, this,” he held out the crystal, “was meant for you to keep.”

Taking the crystal, Jazz let his fingers brush over Prowl’s lightly. “I never even tried to get to know you better, I just assumed like everyone else, that there was nothing to find.”

With a wan smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Prowl gently curled Jazz’s fingers around the crystal. “From what I have learned, I didn’t exactly make it easy for anyone to want to like me.”

“I should’ve…”

“No,” Prowl stepped closer, his gaze earnest, “you have nothing to feel guilty for, it is in the past, it was what it was and if you are to heal, you need to let it go…” he looked down at their hands wrapped around the crystal. “Let them rest, Jazz… let him go…”

Jazz exhaled slowly and met Prowl’s gaze. “I um… might need some help…in that regard…” he whispered his voice catching.

Giving his hands an ever so slight squeeze, Prowl nodded and smiled faintly. “You’ve come to the right mech,” he assured gently.

Hand still in Prowl’s, Jazz allowed the mech to lead him from that old building where he’d wasted far too many cycles lost in his own memories. He had made one last request before allowing Prowl to take him from that place without a look back. They left the wall standing as it had done for the last couple of vorns, with one very small but significant difference. The names were neatly engraved as they had been when the wall had been erected and beneath Ironhide’s name was the rough clear surface of the wall where someone had carefully and diligently scoured the glyphs from the wall, leaving only a shadow of what had been there.


	11. Mundane

Things pretty much returned to normal after Jazz returned to New Praxus, although normal was a relative term for the Polihexian. He had finally been permitted his own residence, this time situated much closer to those of Smokescreen and Prowl as a ‘precaution’ Prowl had explained demurely. Jazz wasn’t naive and knew when mechs were keeping an optic on him. Despite recent revelations, Jazz was far from healed and still struggled in his sessions with Prowl to overcome his issues with intimacy and simple contact. He was still reluctant to reveal much about his past and the tortures and abuses he had endured, though Prowl in his persistence always encouraged him and remained by his side throughout the worst re-tellings. Jazz would give him that, the mech was good at his job.

Turning at the knock on his door, Jazz waved Smokescreen in with a lopsided smile. “It’s not flashy I know,” he commented as the Praxian looked around his apartment. 

Smokescreen chuckled. “Honestly, mech, this is quite… how do I put this? Homely for you,” he grinned. “You all settled in?” he asked casually as he brushed his fingers over the blue crystal Jazz had placed in the middle of it’s own shelf. 

Shrugging somewhat sheepishly, Jazz let out a soft laugh. “Yeah I guess I am, s’not so bad here, still a lot going on in New Praxus.”

“Wouldn’t be because of a certain therapist would it?” Smokescreen asked, glancing from the crystal to Jazz. He’d been filled in on how Jazz had gotten the crystal and had to admit to a great deal of surprise. Prowl had just accepted it outwardly but Smokescreen knew his friend better than that, it would be on his processor whether or not he admitted it. 

“Old news, mech,” Jazz replied smoothly without hesitation. “All in the past, Prowl’s helping me with my treatment, you know that,” he met the Praxian’s knowing optics and knew he wasn’t entirely convinced. Truth was, Jazz wasn’t sure how he felt about the situation and having Prowl as his therapist did complicate matters. He couldn’t deny a certain level of curiosity about how their relationship could develop if they weren’t therapist and patient. He certainly wasn’t about to tell Smokescreen that though. 

Humming thoughtfully as Jazz spoke, Smokescreen smiled at him and changed the subject. He knew the rules on becoming involved with patients and he trusted the two mechs to be able to handle it should any feelings develop. That being said, he silently thought it was a shame they couldn’t explore the potential of a relationship once Jazz’s treatment was completed. He wisely, however, kept his opinions on the matter to himself. Prowl had been explicit in his decision to never become involved with former patients. “When is your next session?” he asked Jazz casually. 

Jazz shrugged and shook his helm. “Prowl said he was on leave for a couple of cycles so I assume he’ll contact me,” 

Smokescreen’s optics flickered in mild surprise. Prowl hadn’t told him he was taking time off. “Fancy a drink then?” he asked with a smile. “Not going to do you much good cooped up in here, is it?” 

Jazz chuckled. “Sure you want to risk going to a bar with the likes of me? Thought I was a walking trouble magnet,” he met Smokescreen’s gaze and both mechs knew he was only half joking.

“Should be quiet at this late in the cycle but if you feel uncomfortable at any point we can leave,” Smokescreen replied easily. 

Shaking his helm, Jazz led the way to the door. “Wasn’t me I was worried about,” he added slyly as he stepped outside with a smirk. 

****

Prowl sighed softly and swirled his cube. For the most part he didn't miss the memories of his old life, but sometimes, more so since Jazz had become a regular patient, he wished for the understanding he once had of the mechs he'd known and worked with. When talking things through with Jazz that knowledge would have certainly made things easier when he digressed onto lighter things that had happened between them, in an attempt to distract himself from the darker memories. 

Prowl knew that his lack of recognition of the events frustrated Jazz but Jazz never voiced it. It was something he tried hide from him. With advanced sensors in his doorwings however, Prowl always picked up the ripple in his energy field. It was a concern. How was he supposed to help Jazz if the mech couldn't be honest with him? Prowl suspected that Jazz was trying to find familiar ground between them in an attempt to reconcile his own feelings towards him or to try and uncover whatever feelings Prowl had once harboured for him. It put Prowl in a bit of a quandary. 

"Would you like me to reheat it for you?"

Prowl looked up at the speaker with a confused frown. "Mm?" 

"Your energon," Bluestreak pointed at the cube in Prowl's hands. "You've been staring at it for so long it's gone cold and I know you prefer warm energon," he smiled warmly. 

"Oh," Prowl glanced down at his cube. "I apologise, I am distracted."

Bluestreak placed a hand on Prowl's. "That much is obvious, here let me reheat this and then you can tell me all about it," he took the cube and patted Prowl's arm with affection. 

Pursing his lips, Prowl watched as the younger Praxian disappeared into the next room with his cube. He always shied away from other mechs' concern, it made him a little uncomfortable. Apparently that was a trait he'd always had, Bluestreak had cheerfully told him. It had never stopped Bluestreak though, Prowl had to smile at that. The younger mech had always been his biggest advocate and was now his closest friend. 

"Here," Bluestreak handed him the cube, breaking him out of his reverie and sat back in his chair, this time with a sparkling in his arms. "So, how's Jazz got under your plating this time?" He asked lightly, inserting a feeding tube from his wrist into the sparkling's mouth. 

Prowl watched as he tended to his offspring feeling a wave of pride rush over him for the mech that Bluestreak had become before his words grated on his consciousness. "Jazz...? I never said..." he stopped at Bluestreak's pointed look and sank back in his chair. "How did you know?" 

Laughing softly, Bluestreak fluttered his doorwings. "He's the only one who ever used to put that look on your face," he smiled. "I guess some things never change," his smile faded a little. "What's bothering you about him?"

Prowl fell quiet and gazed into his energon. "I don't think it is appropriate for me to continue Jazz's therapy."

Bluestreak stared at him in surprise. "Did something happen?" 

"Jazz discovered that I once harboured feelings for him because I gave him my birthing crystal," Prowl explained softly. 

"That's... wow, you'd mentioned you might speak to him back then but I didn't know you'd go so far as to give him your crystal," he smiled brightly at Prowl. "That was a big step for you."

"Hm, it is unfortunate that I do not remember it or my feelings then." 

Doorwings wilting, Bluestreak nodded. "Yeah that does kinda suck for you both," he murmured. "When did he find out?" 

"Almost a groon ago. I told him when I found him hiding at the crash site," Prowl shook his helm a frown creasing his faceplates. "It was fine at first but he's been asking more leading questions, distracting from the point of his therapy. I'm not sure I'm the best mech to help him anymore."

Mouth twisting in thought, Bluestreak hummed. "If I can be honest?"

"Of course," Prowl encouraged. 

"I think you might just be perfect for Jazz to heal. Therapy only does so much but that connection with another goes a long way and before you protest, I'm well aware of your self imposed rules but maybe in helping Jazz heal, you'll find a part of yourself too," he smiled somewhat sadly at Prowl. 

Since his recovery Prowl had distanced himself. It had been subtle and gradual but Bluestreak had noticed. Prowl had admitted to him once and only once about being afraid of not liking what he would find in his past, of resenting the mech he was and allowing it to affect the mech he wanted to be now. "Not all connections to your past are bad ones, Prowl," he added gently. "You never know, you might rediscover something worth remembering."

****

"Where have you been?" 

Prowl looked up as Smokescreen's helm popped around his door. "I went to visit Bluestreak and see his new sparkling," he replied casually, going over his schedule for the day. 

"You didn't tell me," Smokescreen pouted as he made his way across the room and sat in the empty chair opposite Prowl. 

Smirking faintly, Prowl spared Smokescreen a glance. "I wasn't aware I was obligated to fill you in on my whereabouts. Next time I'll be more considerate of your feelings," he teased lightly. 

Smokescreen grinned. "As well you should," he glanced around the room for a few kliks. "Jazz seems to be doing better. He even came to the bar with me and didn't kill anyone."

Raising an optic ridge at the comment, Prowl hummed in reply. "His therapy sessions are progressing smoothly. He's more open to it now, it has made a difference."

"Hm... I don't think it's just the therapy that's made a difference," Smokescreen muttered, moving on quickly before Prowl could respond. "Have you stepped up to plugging in or are you still at the tactile stage?"

"Tactile. Why?" Prowl asked a little sharply. He picked up on the previous comment but had chosen to ignore it. 

"Just wondering," Smokescreen smiled cheerfully. "Just... Be careful when you step it up, I wouldn't want things to get complicated," he pushed up from his seat quickly as Prowl frowned at him. "I'm here if you need to talk about anything, don't forget, okay," he stated, tapping Prowl's desk before taking his leave. Prowl stared after him with an irritated scowl. 

What had that been all about? Prowl wasn't given the chance to dwell on it as a few kliks later his first patient knocked on the door and stepped inside his office. 

"Hey, sorry I'm a little early, I can wait outside?"

Prowl stood up. "Not at all, Rodimus, please come in, take a seat. How have things been?" 

The young Prime gave a little shrug and sank into his usual chair. "You probably know how it is. Meeting here, declaration there, Senate debate, plus another meeting," he lazily waved his hand, sinking deeper into his chair. 

Looking at the mech with faint sympathy, Prowl sat opposite. "You didn't speak to Optimus did you?" 

Rodimus groaned. "You can't just speak to him, it always turns into a lecture. I know he means well but Primus I tried to just talk to him and we ended up arguing about Cybertronian policy and how that wasn't how things were done when he became Prime and..." he dropped his helm back against the back of the chair. "I fragged up, Prowl. I don't think he'll ever want to speak to me again after what I said."

"What did you say?"

Offlining his optics Rodimus sighed and wilted. "I said that glitched policies were probably why we ended up at war in the first place."

Prowl's optics brightened at that and his doorwings twitched. "I see..."

"See it's bad, even you think it's bad," Rodimus uttered dejectedly.

"Optimus is very forgiving," Prowl pointed out gently. 

"Well he hasn't spoken to me since," Rodimus pouted, folding his arms.

"He is also sensitive," Prowl pointed out quickly. "You do however need to address these issues you're having with him. Your feelings towards him could end up affecting you professionally and I know that's not what you want."

Rodimus didn't say anything he just stared at the wall opposite, in a manner that strangely reminded Prowl of Jazz when he was obstinately avoiding his questions. He found it uncharacteristically frustrating and made some notes in silence in an attempt to distract himself and give Rodimus a few moments to gather his thoughts before they continued. 

"Prowl," Rodimus gazed down at the floor by Prowl's feet as he softly spoke. "There's something I need to come clean about."

Prowl canted his helm slightly with piqued curiosity. "Come clean?"

"Yeah, I've not been... entirely honest about everything," Rodimus squirmed in his seat looking more nervous than Prowl had ever seen him.

"You're in a safe place here, Rodimus, go ahead," Prowl reassured gently.

Sitting up straighter, Rodimus nodded and took a few moments before he spoke again. "Well the reason I came to you wasn't just my issues with Optimus. With everything that happened, I mean after he died everything happened so quickly, there was never chance to and now my schedule is crazy, I barely get a klik to myself never mind anything more than that. I've just not had the chance you know? I tried it once but it was rushed and I was nervous and it's safe to say that it did not go well and I think this made things worse with Optimus because I'm sure he hinted he would like more between us once but I got so nervous I couldn't answer and left the function and... aw slag I'm just babbling here... I..."

"Rodimus," Prowl interrupted gently. "Are you trying tell me, you haven't really interfaced before?"

"--No... yes. Sorta?" The younger mech rubbed the back of his neck. "Frag this is awkward," he muttered. "I kinda did once but before I became Prime and it... it..."

"Hurt?"

"Yes!" Rodimus deflated in his chair. "I'm a glitch," he muttered with resignation.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well I am aren't I? It's normal for mechs to regularly and casually interface and I don't."

Prowl shook his helm. "You most certainly are not a glitch and accepting that the social norm isn't the norm for everyone is the first step towards overcoming your reservations and anxieties surrounding interfacing," he gave Rodimus a warm smile. "We should start at the beginning so I can help you fully. When you're ready, why don't we talk about what happened leading up to that first time, then we can decide together which direction to go from there."


	12. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delay in posting. Had laptop failure and university work to do. Hope the wait is worth it.

The following cycle became a surreal blur for Prowl. Mechs began appearing at his place of work, hassling his patients, it was all very strange. Soundwave appeared at the door to his office towards the end of the cycle looking flustered, which for Soundwave was quite an emotional state. 

"Soundwave," Prowl stood behind his desk with a frown. "What is it?" 

"Query: Does Prowl know what is happening outside?" 

Shaking his helm slightly, Prowl felt worry curl about his spark. "I've tried not to pay attention but I know they've been harrassing the patients..." 

"Prowl are you in here? We need to talk!" Smokescreen burst into his office, hesitating when he saw Soundwave. "Sorry but this is really important," he added quickly.

Prowl gave him a reprising look. "Yes, if this is regarding our unexpected guests then Soundwave was about to tell me all about them."

"The mechs are publications and data streamers. Have information about how you perform your practise and a witness of inappropriate behaviour," Soundwave started to explain.

"What? That's preposterous, where are they getting their information?" Prowl demanded, folding his arms.

"It's Axle, Prowl," Smokescreen added solemnly. "He's accused you of taking advantage while he was under your treatment, he went to the news streamers when lawyers didn't take him seriously because of his past crimes. He's pressing charges against you."

Prowl's optics went bright with shock and he stared at his friend in disbelief. Axle had been one of his first patients when he’d been training and the first patient Prowl had failed to help successfully. The mech had attacked Prowl in his office and it had taken Smokescreen and Smokescreen’s patient to get him to stop. Prowl had ended up in the hospital. After discovering Axle’s mutlitude of issues and his then unknown history of abuse, Prowl had decided against Smokescreen’s advice, not to press charges and had since tried to forget it had ever happened. "What are the charges?" He whispered.

Smokescreen pulled a face and shook his helm. "It's wrong, Prowl. I know you wouldn't, this is completely ridiculous!"

"What are the charges?" Prowl repeated sternly. 

"Charges of: seduction without consent, abuse of position, physical and psychological harm against the accuser leading ultimately to interfacing without consent. Rape."

Prowl listened with growing horror as Soundwave parroted the news feed that was being transmitted throughout the city of Praxus and he sank down into his chair slowly. 

The door burst open suddenly with a loud litany of curses and expletives as Jazz shouted at mechs that had found their way into the building. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of the somber faces and thick atmosphere. His shoulders drooped as his visor met Prowl's worried, confused optics. "This is slag mech, we're going to get you through this," he declared resolutely. "Anyone who knows you, knows you wouldn't do what this fragger is saying."

"That has always been my problem though hasn't it, Jazz?" Prowl replied quietly. "Nobody really knows me, not even myself," he trailed off, optics dimming as the noise of clamouring, demanding, eager news mechs filled the office while the three mechs stood looking between each other helplessly. 

****

Prowl had continued working despite the awful news, streamer mechs pestering him every chance they got. He'd taken to recharging in his office to avoid leaving the building and had become even more withdrawn. It had Smokescreen worried. Other mechs, mechs who remembered Prowl from the war and held a grudge, had come forward with supposed evidence of his inappropriate solicitations while undergoing treatment with Prowl as well as accusations of inappropriate conduct and abuse of position during the war. It was slag, Smokescreen knew it was slag as he read yet another scandalous news report. "Off the books?!" He exclaimed loudly. "Prowl doesn't even know what off the books means!" He declared angrily, pacing his office. 

"What can we do?" Jazz asked calmly from his seemingly casual position by the door. He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded, his expression schooled into one that disguised his urge to dismember the news streamer mechs. 

Glancing at him Smokescreen flicked his doorwings in irritation. He knew a quiet somber Jazz was a dangerous Jazz. Any other situation and he'd have been pleased at seeing Jazz so ready and willing to defend Prowl. This situation, however, he derived no pleasure. "I've been issued orders to suspend his licence pending his trial."

Jazz bristled. "Mech hasn't even been officially charged," he uttered darkly.

"I know but I don't have a choice, Jazz!" Smokescreen declared with distress. "If I don't they'll shut the whole practice down. I'll be arrested along with him and I'll not be able to defend him," he deflated into his chair. "I just hope he'll be able to forgive me," he murmured. 

"He's going to take it badly," Jazz stated, knowing he was declaring the obvious. He'd been on edge since the accusations had been aired. Prowl had soldiered on with his sessions but Jazz could tell it was taking a toll on him. It made him angry that he was being so easily vilified after trying to do so much good for mechs. They'd even started spouting slag about Prowl's past during the war. It was sickening. "Want me to be there?"

Smokescreen shook his helm. "Prowl wouldn't want that but... Maybe hang around and see if you can't drag him away from this place or at least bail him out if the enforcers come to arrest him. He stood up and inhaled deeply. "Here goes nothing," he gazed at Jazz, who felt nothing but sympathy for him at this moment. It was a horrible position to be in.

He watched Smokescreen leave his office and duck into Prowl's. Jazz wasn't sure what to expect. The Prowl he'd known would have reacted indifferently and hidden his genuine feelings until he was safe in the privacy of his own room. He waited and soon came the sounds of raised voices. His visor dimmed as he listened to the two Praxians argue. Some things really had changed. Either that or Prowl was too ground down by the whole thing to hide how he felt. 

Jazz made sure he was out of sight as the door of Prowl's office was opened viciously. 

"How could you of all mechs do this! I always knew you were self centred but this?! It's betrayal of the worst kind!"

"Prowl please listen to me! It isn't like that!" Smokescreen's voice rang out through the corridor. 

Prowl marched out of his office and slammed the door vehemently as he made his way to the exit.

Smokescreen appeared within seconds and shouted after him. "Why do you always have to be such a stubborn aft glitch?! Why can't you just listen for once! THIS IS WHY NOBODY WANTED TO KNOW YOU!!" He hollered as the elevator doors closed, hiding Prowl's stricken expression as Smokescreen's words reached his audio. 

Jazz stepped out as Smokescreen erupted into a flurry of expletives and angrily punched the wall a few times, before wilting where he stood with a whispered "frag," which was filled with remorse. "Could have gone better, mech."

"Yeah not what I need right now, Jazz but thanks for pointing out the obvious," the Praxian snapped.

"Considering that it was Prowl, it also could have gone much worse," he pointed out gently. "I'll go keep an optic on him," he declared, lightly patting Smokescreen's shoulder. 

The Praxian just nodded and watched Jazz leave. Ducking back into his own office, he pulled out a bottle of high grade and cancelled all his appointments for the cycle. Gulping down the strong fluid, he sank into his chair, optics dim. He hoped Jazz had better luck getting through to Prowl, because he had just made things a whole lot worse. 

 


	13. Criminal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had laptop failure. Again. Hard drive this time so apologies for the delay. As a result I've not kept as ahead as I would have liked on this and there is only one more chapter/scene written after this one so updates may take even longer. I hope not though and I hope you lovely readers continue to be patient and stick with me. I love that you're enjoying this story. Thank you for reading this far :)

Jazz didn’t have to go far to find Prowl. He’d been cornered outside the building by numerous news streamer mechs and mechs who simply wanted to hurl abuse at him. Some of those faces, Jazz recognised and he made quiet mental notes to pay certain mechs a visit later. Even in a time of relative peace, individuals still liked to hurl blame and point fingers, it angered him. He growled as Prowl was virtually pinned against the wall, unable to move, hands grabbing at him, microphones shoved in his face demanding he give a statement. Jazz was having none of it. Activating his sound system, which hadn’t been used in a long time, Jazz blasted the whole crowd with his sonic bursts. Mechs crumpled and held their helms as they cried out in shock and discomfort. The blast even affected Prowl with his sensitive doorwings and he’d curled away from it in an attempt to shield himself from the blast of sound. It couldn’t be helped though. Jazz moved swiftly. It would take the mechs a few mega kliks to recover, which was all the time he needed. He swooped down on Prowl and grabbed the disorientated mech’s arm, hauling to him to his feet and dragging him away from the chaos of the rabble. He couldn’t help the bitter anger that bubbled up inside as he spied scuffs and scratches on Prowl’s normally pristine plating, caused by the mechs trying to get close to him and those who wanted to use his current vulnerability to do a little damage of their own.

“Jazz… I think you can let me go now,” Prowl stated calmly as he was tugged along by the arm by a visibly bristling Jazz. “Jazz…?”

“Not until I can trust you’re not going to run and hide or do something stupid,” Jazz replied tersely.

“Please, give me some credit,” Prowl scoffed, doorwings drooping slightly as Jazz shot him a scrutinising glare, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“You think I’m an idiot, Prowl?”

“No.”

“Good answer,” Jazz muttered as he marched them down some side streets away from the prying optics of onlookers. “Your place is as bad as your office so you’re coming to a place I know and you’re going to like it, clear?”

Prowl nodded as Jazz shot a look back at him. He had no energy nor inclination to argue. He just wanted to sit and forget the world around them was hunting him down to put him on trial. How had things gotten so messed up so fast? He knew running was a bad idea, it only gave the impression of guilt. The enforcers were coming for him, that much was inevitable. The only reason they hadn’t yet was because they were trying to get hold of Axle who had taken his accusations straight to the media and then had conveniently vanished while the hype had exploded at a planet-wide level. To top it all, he didn’t even have his job anymore. At the back of his processor logic told him that Smokescreen hadn’t had a choice but it didn’t make it hurt any less. At a time when he desperately needed his support he felt abandoned, cast out, forgotten. Just as he had immediately after his life saving surgery, seemingly a lifetime ago.

“For frag’s sake, Prowl,” Jazz rumbled, nudging him in the side as they walked together. “I can hear you thinking. Give it a rest would ya?”

Jazz was trying to lighten the mood, something which Prowl neither wanted nor needed right now but it did tell him a lot about Jazz’s mental progress. The mech had not been in any state to lighten anybot’s mood when Prowl had first started his treatment. He allowed himself a small swell of satisfaction to curl about his spark. At least he’d been able to help him a little, he hoped Jazz’s future therapist would be able to work with the stubborn mech to build on that progress. As for himself, Prowl only saw a bleak future lying ahead for him. There were mechs that loathed him and wanted him gone and they would seemingly stop at nothing until he was rotting in the stockades or had been reformatted himself. “That is somewhat difficult to do, given the current predicament,” Prowl replied softly. “Thank you though,” he added giving Jazz a small glance.

Jazz frowned and huffed air through his vents. “Don’t need to thank me, you would, slag it, have done the same for me recently.”

Prowl smiled a little at that. Jazz truly had come a long way, even if he wouldn’t admit it or couldn’t yet see it himself. Prowl touched his shoulder prompting him to meet his tired but grateful gaze. “Still you have my thanks all the same. I am grateful that you’re here.”

A small grin curled around the edges of Jazz’s lips and he swatted Prowl’s arm and continued walking. “Where else would I be, mech?” He shot back with a note of amusement in his voice. “No other bot on Cybertron is crazy enough to put up with me.”

****

Prowl had been reluctant to enter the low class establishment, it would not look good to be found in such a place, but Jazz had assured him nobody would come to this part of the city to look for him, never mind look in this place. Once inside one of the owners who Jazz knew personally and was aware of Prowl, ushered them into the back of the dance club. Prowl had been surprised at the small but pleasant, sound proofed cafe, that looked out onto the streets through mirrored windows.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Prowl murmured quietly.

"No problem, mech. I'll go grab us some energon, make yourself comfy. From the amount of mechs I saw milling about your apartment, I doubt we'll be leaving anytime soon," Jazz lightly touched Prowl's back in a show of solidarity before moving to the counter in the adjacent room to prepare them some fuel.

"He's not like I expected," the femme helping Jazz prepare the drinks,  commented softly.

"What did you expect?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure but from the stories he always sounded so formidable, scary even."

Jazz smirked wryly at that. "Mech was, still is when he wants to be. Those stories were from a long time ago though."

"He just seems lost," she replied sympathetically as she peered through the door. "And lonely."

Jazz walked over to her with two cubes in hand. His gaze landed on the black and white who had curled up on one of the sofas, he seemed almost sparkling like in his demeanour as his arms curled about himself. He frowned. Had Prowl always suffered this way? In silence and alone? Jazz suspected he had and that thought made his spark ache. "Who wouldn't be right now?" He glanced at the femme who met his optics sadly.

"You're a good friend," she answered, placing a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaving them alone.

Jazz wasn't so convinced about that last part but he would do what he could. He owed Prowl that much. Heading over he canted his helm at the mech who had slipped into recharge almost as soon as he'd laid his helm down. Sitting in the nearby chair and sipping his energon, he gazed at Prowl sadly. Jazz shook his helm. "How long has it been, Prowler? How long since you really trusted or opened up to someone? Was you giving me that crystal before the shuttle you trying to reach me?" He asked rhetorically, his voice soft. "Should've known better than to think there was nothing below the surface. I hope you can forgive me," he bowed his helm and sat back in his chair,  nursing his drink. He wasn't looking for answers at this point but he hoped Prowl would trust him enough to rely on him through all this current slag. It would go someway to helping him atone for what, in Jazz's mind, had been his own blatant ignorance of the mech Prowl had once been, deep beneath that stoic surface.

****

Jazz onlined suddenly,  surprised that he'd dozed off. The room had gone dark as the cycle had waned and the soft night lights of New Praxus crept gently into the room. It wasn't enough to hide the piercing blue of Prowl's optics, fixed on him,  watching, appraising silently. "You don't really switch off do you?" Jazz commented casually with a wry grin.

"It's become a bad habit, analysing those around me."

"Become?" Jazz huffed a soft good natured laugh as Prowl shifted to sit up. "Mech, I'd say it's more like old habits die hard."

Prowl fell into quiet thoughtfulness at that and the silence dragged on, causing Jazz to think he'd overstepped. "You didn't like me back then, him,  the mech I was," Prowl stated matter of factly, even as he stumbled over the words.

"I think that's probably a fair statement," Jazz murmured quietly in response. "I never really gave you a chance though, you know."

Prowl nodded and turned his gaze to the windows. "I have heard that before," he replied softly, no accusation or resentment in his voice. "He, I, was lonely. I could deduce that much even if his journals never explicitly stated it. He worked so hard because he held onto so much guilt over the loss of Praxus. He vowed never to get close to anyone, avoid the pain of loss," he looked back at Jazz. "Did you know he'd tried to escape the war?"

Jazz shook his helm. "No I didn't."

"He was a pacifist. The ship was called the Peaceful Resolution. It was shot down. He survived. Not long after, Praxus was destroyed, he was angry that he couldn't do more to protect those he loved, angry that they'd died and he'd survived. Along with his spark deep guilt, I don't think he ever came to terms with it. Probably why I still feel guilty for surviving the shuttle," he let out a soft, humourless laugh. "Seems to be the story of my life."

Jazz listened in silence, taking it in, remembering the mech Prowl had been. It explained a lot and made his spark ache for him. To carry around so much pain and have noone to turn to. His problems seemed almost insignificant. "I may not have liked him, you, but I respected him. Prowl, you did a lot of good during the war," Jazz leaned forward, resting on his legs. "You did a lot of underhanded, shady slag too but you did it to save more lives than it cost. Mechs did respect you, relied on you to save their afts in battle, even if they didn't like you," he bowed his helm with a sigh. "I wish I'd taken the time to get past that hard aft, cold front you put up. We might've even been friends," Jazz trailed off sadly.

Prowl gazed at him, expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmured with a faint, grateful smile. "I could use a drink," he stated, getting up and heading for the counter in the other room.

"I thought you didn't do high grade?" Jazz got up and followed him.

"I do occasionally if I'm particularly stressed or it is a special occasion. I try not to have too much though, it sends my sensor net haywire."

"I see," Jazz picked out a bottle. "I recommend this. Delight of Tyger Pax. Not the strongest but smooth with a nice kick to it."

Prowl smiled and accepted the bottle, grabbing two cubes. "I believe this situation does call for a bit of a kick," he turned and headed back into the seating area. "Please join me, Jazz, I hate to indulge alone."  

"Anything you want, mech," Jazz gave him a lopsided grin and accepted the offered full cube, taking a sip. "Where'd you find that out about the old you anyway?"

Prowl sat down savoring his first mouthful of high grade before answering. "I found all of my old journals in the central classified archive. It's like reading about somebody else's life. I feel like I'm invading his privacy somehow."

Jazz nodded in understanding. "If he'd wanted anybody to read them, I'm sure you'd be top of the list," he paused thoughtfully for a klik. "If you wouldn't mind though, and you're comfortable, I'd love to learn more about the mech you were, if you're willing to share?"

Prowl smiled slightly at that and sat back in his chair. "What would you like to know?"

Matching his smile, Jazz shrugged. "Whatever you want to tell me is good with me. This was your life after all, Prowl."

"It can't do any harm, I suppose."

****

Smokescreen glared at the enforcers who had invaded Prowl's office by shoving past him. "I already told you he's not here, he's been suspended as I was ordered to do!"

The chief enforcer was unfazed by Smokescreen's anger. "Hm, a warrant shall be issued for his arrest," he turned to his fellow enforcers. "Search it. Take everything as evidence."

"You can't do that!" Smokescreen rushed forward, putting himself between the enforcers and Prowl's office.

The chief thrust a datapad at Smokescreen's chest before shoving him out of the way.

Reading the datapad, Smokescreen's doorwings drooped at the warrant for Prowl's office and for his apartment plus all of his possessions,  which were now admissable as evidence. There was nothing he could do.

****

Jazz stiffened as Prowl was in the middle of regaling a story he’d written in one of his old journals. He held up his hand to signal Prowl to stop for a klik, much to his chagrin. Jazz had been enjoying getting to know the mech Prowl had been and in many ways, still was.

He frowned deeply as Smokescreen relayed his message and sighed when the comm. ended.

Watching him closely, it wasn't hard for Prowl to guess what the message had been about. "It's time isn't it?" He asked soberly.

Jazz met his gaze, his visor dim. "They've issued the warrant for your arrest."

Remaining impassive, Prowl swallowed a gulp of his high grade and gazed into his cube. “I want to thank you, Jazz,” he spoke softly.

“For what?”

“This. Being here, accepting me, trying to help,” Prowl looked up and gave Jazz a small tired smile, before placing his cube on a nearby table and pushing to his feet. “Even after the shuttle and my subsequent recovery, I have struggled with acceptance from others, especially given my status during the war so your efforts are deeply appreciated.”

Jazz shook his helm. “No need, Prowler, without you, mech I very likely wouldn’t be here now,” Jazz threw him a wry grin and stood up, moving closer.

Straightening his posture, doorwings rising slightly, proudly on his back, Prowl nodded. “It’s time to go.”

Scowling deeply, Jazz touched his arm. “You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to be a martyr.

Glancing down at Jazz’s hand, Prowl gently took it in his own and gave it a squeeze. “If one thing has remained true about me, it is my belief in justice. I will turn myself in because it is the right thing to do. I’m an innocent mech, I only hope that the new system is less corrupt than that of my… predecessor.”

“Your predecessor?” Jazz quirked an optic ridge.

Prowl ducked his helm slightly. “For want of a better description of my past self.”

“I promise you, Prowl, I’m going to be there. Every step of the way. You’re not going down this way. You have friends and we’re going to help you,” Jazz declared resolutely.

Giving the visored mech a nod, Prowl turned and started to head for the door, only to be stopped by Jazz’s hand tightening on his arm. Glancing back at the mech, Prowl canted his helm slightly. “It is time to let me go, Jazz.”

Mouth twisting at Prowl’s choice of words, Jazz swallowed down his sudden pronounced apprehension and shook his helm. Stepping into Prowl’s space, he placed a hand on the surprised mech’s face and brushed a chaste kiss over his lips, letting it linger for a few kliks.

Staring at Jazz with bright optics, Prowl’s mouth opened but no words came forth.

Jazz met his stunned gaze with a soft smile. “That’s for everything that is, all you’ve done for me and for everything that wasn’t.”

“Jazz… I….”

“I’m not letting go, Prowl. Not when I’ve just started to make sense of it all,” he moved past Prowl and opened the door, looking back to Prowl who was still staring at him in confused silence. He held out his hand. “Every step of the way, Prowl. Have you ever known me to back down from a fight?”

Relenting and pushing his mixed emotions aside, Prowl smiled soberly as he accepted Jazz’s offered hand. “Not recently,” he replied demurely, stepping out of the safety of the quiet back room.

****

Smokescreen was with the enforcers at Prowl’s apartment, just as Jazz had told him to be. He watched Prowl and Jazz arrive, walking side by side, looking as calm and collected as when they had commanded an army between them. It made his spark lurch at the sight, sending him back a few vorns. “Prowl I…” he started apologetically, only for Prowl to hold up his hand and stop him.

“It’s alright, I know you had no choice,” he replied with a faint smile. “Thank you for being here.”

Smokescreen didn’t get chance to reply as the chief enforcer marched forward. “Citizen Prowl, I am here to place you under arrest. You are charged with--”

“--Please, there’s no need, I am aware of the charges, officer,” Prowl interrupted politely and held out his hands. “I come willingly.”

The chief nodded satisfactorily and motioned for one of his officers to put Prowl in stasis cuffs.

“Mech is that really necessary?” Jazz asked with a frown. “He’s bein’ cooperative.”

The chief, who didn’t agree with the charges personally, having met Prowl on a number of occasions and had been inspired by the mech’s history as an enforcer himself; gave Jazz a resigned glance.”Orders. Given the charges. It’s over my head, I’m sorry.”

“How high does this go?” Smokescreen muttered with a scowl as he watched Prowl being led to the enforcer transport.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Jazz answered, folding his arms as Prowl cast a last glance at them over his shoulder. Jazz would have sworn that this was the only time he’d ever seen Prowl looking afraid but then he knew he could never be sure of that. He may have seen it before and had just never noticed.

“What are you going to do?” asked Smokescreen, his doorwings drooping low on his back as the transport pulled away.

“Call in the big guns and some very old favours.”

 


	14. Old Favours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has now caught up with me. I am writing as much as my procrastination allows. ^_^;;  
> I might get behind with updating but after a certain comic today I felt like I needed this.  
> Thank you for reading.

Rodimus looked up sharply from the political datapads he was reviewing and trying to implement or disapprove. “Jazz?” he stared bewildered at the black and white mech. “How did you get in here, there are guards…does Red Alert know you're here?”

Jazz waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah sorry about that, they’ll wake up soon, will have a bit of a processor ache," his visor brightened at the familiar name. "Red? He works here? Had no idea, should have guessed though.”

The Prime got slowly to his feet, feeling suddenly threatened and exposed. He hadn’t been without body guards for some time now.

Frowning, Jazz canted his helm at the younger mech. “Cool your jets, Prime, I’m not here to do anything,” he draped himself over the chair opposite Rodimus’ too large a desk, languidly.

Sitting back down, still not entirely at ease, Rodimus regarded Jazz warily. Jazz was a non entity, that’s what he’d been told. The mech had gone awol once Optimus had died and despite occasionally seeing him around base, Rodimus had never worked with him. He had heard the stories though, none of which settled his spark right now. “I heard you were undergoing treatment,” he began, his tone light, casual.

“I remember you from before you were Prime,” Jazz replied, completely ignoring Rodimus’ statement. “Young, impetuous, bit like the twins, Sides’ and Sunny, do you know them?”

Rodimus nodded, not quite sure where this was going. “They’re Optimus’ bodyguards.”

Jazz laughed brightly. “Are they now? Well they moved up in the world.” He continued to chuckle to himself for a klik before resting his visored, unreadable gaze on the flame coloured Prime. “I remember you being a mech of caution, good spark, strong willed, bit lacking in the confidence department though.

Scowling at that and looking down at his hands clasped on his desk, Rodimus felt irritation bubbling beneath his plating. For too long had he been patronised by those who had served before him. Optimus’ loyal, faithful soldiers. They didn’t mean harm by their words and he knew it was difficult for many of them to let go of what was but it still irked him. He was Prime now and he had more than earned his place. “Was there something you wanted, Jazz.”

“Ok, touched a nerve there did I?” Jazz asked rhetorically, his mouth quirking into an amused half smirk. “Straight to the point then. I need your help.”

Rodimus raised an optic ridge in surprise. “You’re going the wrong way about it.”

Idly fiddling with a crystal on Rodimus’ desk, Jazz hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, but now that I’m here, you might as well listen and when you’ve listened,” he pinned the young Prime with a sharp, knowing gaze; one that spoke of many untold secrets, it made Rodimus squirm, though he tried not to show it. “You’re going to want to help me.”

“You’re so sure of yourself?” the Prime asked, managing to keep his voice steady.

Jazz flashed him a brilliant smile yet spoke quietly, softly even.. “Prime, I wouldn’t have survived for very long doing what I did, if I hadn’t been.”

Rodimus didn’t know how to respond to that and even if he had, he’d been stumped by Jazz using his title. The mech, despite his smile - which reminded Rodimus of an Earth tiger; feral and predatory - had spoken to him respectfully, his voice devoid of mockery or derision and he held his gaze steadily as a soldier would his superior. It was the first time in a long time that Rodimus had actually felt in command of anyone. “I’m listening,” he declared evenly.

****

Jazz sat between Smokescreen and Bluestreak as they watched Prowl being escorted into the courtroom. Prowl’s trial had been expedited upon the inclusion of additional charges and multiple witnesses claiming to have been a victim of Prowl’s during and after the war. The media surrounding it all was sickening and Jazz was appalled that nothing had been done to protect Prowl as a citizen. He had been arrested, incarcerated, charged and sent to trial within a matter of cycles. It wasn’t usual and Jazz knew that meant someone higher up was pushing for Prowl to take this fall. He folded his arms and growled softly at the sight of stasis cuffs locked around Prowl’s wrists and the two enforcers stationed beside him as though he were some criminal mastermind. “Vorns of war and for what? Call this peace? A new golden age?” he muttered darkly.

Bluestreak glanced at Jazz sadly. “I didn’t think corruption of the justice system still happened,” he replied softly. “It’s as though we fought for nothing.”

“It’s like we’re still fighting,” Smokescreen corrected tersely, his doorwings held high. “Nothing about this sits right.”

“You feel it too huh?” Jazz murmured.

Smokescreen clicked in exasperation. “I don’t care what grudge some slag heap has on Prowl, the mech doesn’t deserve this. He’s paid for his part in the war threefold and I know for a fact he wouldn’t harm a patient.”

“No argument from me,” Jazz answered gruffly.

“But what can we do? This isn’t a war we know how to fight,” Bluestreak commented with deep concern.

Jazz hummed. “Prowl could fight this, he’d fight back and nobody would even realise until he’d won.”

“He’s not the same mech, he doesn’t remember,” Smokescreen insisted irritably.

“No, he’s not,” Jazz replied, his gaze fixed on Prowl as he was sat down before the presiding official at the front of the court. Pale optics met the deep azure of his visor and didn’t waver. “He’s so much more.”

****

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe shared a glance as Rodimus approached. “Prime,” Sideswipe spoke first, maintaining his position as guard of Optimus’ private abode.

“Is he available?” Rodimus asked curtly. After his chat with Jazz, it had taken some doing to escape his usual advisors who hung around him like a bad case of scraplets.

“He’s not unavailable,” Sunstreaker answered cryptically. “Is this about Prowl’s case?”

Rodimus simply gave him a terse nod and a grunt of acquiescence.

“Then he’s available,” Sideswipe answered, pushing open the door.

The twins followed the Prime inside and locked the door behind them, much to Rodimus’ confusion.

“Rodimus,” Optimus’ deep voice rumbled through the room as he turned away from his window overlooking the city. “I was hoping you would come.”

“You knew?” Rodimus glanced back at the twins who simply gave him matching smirks and shrugged nonchalantly at him. Sighing Rodimus moved deeper into the room. “Optimus, Jazz has brought to my attention the current situation with Prowl.”

Optimus hummed. “I know. He came to speak with me too. Suffice to say I have been expecting you,” he gestured to a nearby seat.

“This is a very delicate situation. There are mechs, I know in the new council who want to see justice done to what they see as one of the principle instigators in the war.”

“I am aware,” Optimus nodded, moving to one of the other seats. “This is not the way to do that however.”

“The reputation of who he has become should not be tarnished I agree, but we simply cannot intervene with legal proceedings. There has been no evidence of corruption or wrongdoing, other than this Axle mech disappearing after throwing accusations everywhere.”

Sideswipe couldn’t help a snort of admonishment at that comment and folded his arms defiantly when Rodimus threw him a glance.

“Rodimus you know as well as I that if someone in power wants someone to blame then corruption is nearly always involved,” he gestured to the chair once more. “Come, we have much to discuss before we act.”

“Before we act?” Rodimus repeated incredulously. “Prime you can’t be thinking of--”

“--I’m not the Prime, you are and I’m not going to stand by and watch a mech who gave almost all of himself to my cause, give the last of himself as a scapegoat for some despot’s quest for revenge. Right now, all I am thinking of, is asking for your help.”

Rodimus was taken aback by that and slowly sat down in the offered chair. Optimus had never asked him for help before. That coupled with what Jazz had told him, stirred deeply in his spark. There was something not right about all of this. Optimus was right about that much. If someone in power was manipulating the justice system then there was no telling how far their reach extended or what that might mean for them and the future of Cybertron. They would not survive another war. “I’m listening,” he stated softly, holding Optimus’ intense gaze, despite those very optics being the root of the incessant flutter in his spark.

Optimus smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Prime,” he replied graciously. “Let me start at the beginning, then I’ll explain my plan.”

****

The court room was awash with palpable tension. As Prowl had been unable to appoint someone to defend him in such a short space of time, he had simply volunteered to defend himself. He had enough legal knowledge to do so, despite not having, or remembering previous experiences.

The prosecution had begun their case with ruthless efficiency. A number of witnesses had been called, all who testified against Prowl’s actions as either a therapist or as the second in command of the former Autobot army. Prowl had attempted to object to the latter, stating that the prosecution were trying to carry out two simultaneous trials, neither of which were related to the other. The judge had overruled him, declaring that the witnesses at least contributed to each case as character witnesses if nothing else. Prowl had then been subjected to each and every testimony, unable to truly object as accusations of things he did not recall were thrown at him, along with some choice insults and barbs. The last had had Prowl’s supporters in uproar and the judge had been forced to call a recess.

The courtroom was mostly empty. Prowl had requested that he be allowed to stay. The judge had permitted it but only if he remained in stasis cuffs and in the presence of the two armed enforcers. Prowl had had no choice but to comply. It had given him a rare opportunity to speak with Smokescreen, Bluestreak and Jazz for the first time since this fiasco had begun. He was honestly surprised to see former Decepticons sitting on his side of the court too and had given Hook and Soundwave a grateful nod, which had been returned in kind.

“I wanted to thank you all for being here,” Prowl commented absently as he poured over datapads containing legal documents and the particulars of his case.

“Prowl, are you joking? Of course we were going to be here,” Bluestreak started with a frown. “We’re your friends and we know you haven’t done slag to deserve this. Even the judge seems biased and not appointing you a lawyer well I just--” he stopped when Smokescreen placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. His doorwings drooped and he deflated a little. “Sorry, this is just quite distressing. You deserve a chance at a new life, just like the rest of us. If they put you on trial they might as well put us on trial too.”

Prowl gave him a sympathetic look and a not quite smile. “That’s not quite true, Bluestreak. You all just followed my orders when I was a commander.”

“And you followed mine.”

The instantly recognisable voice had Prowl whirling around in surprise. “Prime, Optimus,” he bowed his helm politely, only for the larger mech to place his hands on his shoulders and prompt Prowl to look at him.

“Prowl, you of all mechs need not bow to me. You gave more of yourself to my cause than many. I stand beside you now as your equal and your friend.”

Prowl nodded, somewhat overwhelmed at the display of support. Having Optimus publicly on his side could only help as the former Prime was still revered by many across Cybertron. “Thank you, I do appreciate the moral support.”

Optimus gave him a knowing smile before his optics swept over Smokescreen, Bluestreak and Jazz. “It is gratifying to see you all once again, though I wish we arranged such reunions under more favourable circumstances.”

Smokescreen smiled. “Likewise, Prime,” he still hadn’t gotten used to calling the mech Optimus and did not think that was going to change any time soon.

Optimus turned to Jazz. “I’m especially pleased to see you here, Jazz and looking well no less.”

“Wouldn’t miss seeing the old gang back together for all the crystals in Praxus,” he grinned. “And I have a debt to pay.”

Prowl frowned slightly at that but chose not to comment. The words were heavy with meaning and he was currently too preoccupied by his own situation to really decipher them. “The court will be back in session, you should take your seats,” he interrupted wearily, not really mentally prepared for another barrage of accusations from the prosecution.

Optimus sat down beside Prowl much to the Praxian’s confusion. “Optimus, that seat is for defence only,” he murmured softly.

“I am aware of that, Prowl,” Optimus regarded his old friend with a reassuring smile before his old battle mask slid into place, hiding everything below his optics. “I’m going to need your help in getting me up to speed on the particulars of the case.”

“I--- what?”

“I have been appointed your defender. This isn’t a burden you have to carry alone, old friend. I think you’ve done enough of that, don’t you?”

“How…? Is this even permitted? I thought only the judge could appoint a defender once the case has commenced.”

“And so he has.”

Prowl’s helm snapped around towards the direction of the second voice. “Prime?”

Rodimus gave Prowl a nod. “Prowl, you’ve done a lot for me, that I’ll not mention here and while I’d love to do more to help, having an impartial judge cannot hurt your case and Optimus has had much more experience in actual defence matters than I.”

“Wait so you’re the judge?” Jazz called out with no small amount of surprise. Though he was glad the Prime had been listening when he’d visited him.

Rodimus nodded. “I am, I replaced the presiding judge upon being informed by my own personal investigators that there was evidence of bribery. As I cannot stop the trial now it has begun, I will do everything in my power to ensure that the trial from here on in, is as free from corruption and bias as possible,” he gazed at Prowl and placed a hand on the astonished Praxian’s shoulder. “I have every faith in Optimus’ ability to fight your corner, Prowl. May Primus be with you.”

Prowl watched the young Prime walk over to the judge’s dais and step inside. He rang the tone declaring the court back in session and mechs filed into the room, amidst a flurry of surprised and curious murmurings.

Prowl was at a loss for words though he was deeply moved by their actions and decidedly pleased that both Primes had started speaking to each other once again - even if the reasons weren’t exactly what he had desired for them. For the first time since this had all began, he started to feel hope curling about his spark that everything just might, work out in his favour.

 


	15. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heee I've nearly finished this fic. I do hope you all like what is coming and thank you for sticking with me. You're all amazing and the reason I write ^_^

The trial dragged on as the prosecution continued their tirade. They had been temporarily stumped when faced with both Primes. Rodimus to his credit had maintained fairness and order in the court, while instructing the prosecution to continue with their case. Optimus had listened carefully to each testimony of the witnesses, while Prowl had been making notes and reviewing some of the prosecution’s supposed evidence.

To Jazz it was all very dry and tedious. There was something to be said for the art of war. Fast, efficient, brutal, no room for hesitation or questions. Kill or be killed. There was something almost clinical about it. It was a facet Jazz missed. Here he just felt like a lump, a useless piece of scrap metal only capable of observing. It didn’t sit well with him and he was frustrated. He’d moved away from Smokescreen and Bluestreak when he had started fidgeting. Every testimony slamming Prowl grated on him. Prowl had been many things in the past but to make up slag Jazz knew was false was just wrong. Prowl, the mech he was now didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Especially as he had spent his life, following his recovery, helping pathetic slag heaps like him.

“Bored huh?”

Jazz stiffened at the voice behind him and he glared at the red twin. “Do you want a dagger through your spark?”

Sideswipe scoffed a laugh and gave Jazz a lop-sided grin. “Please, you’ve not trained in vorns, you so much as twitch and I’d have you on your aft.”

Jazz smirked darkly at that. “Don’t be so sure, hot shot,” he gave Sideswipe an appraising glance. “I remember all your moves. Besides who said I haven’t trained? Mech like me, doesn’t need training.”

Sunstreaker sidled up to his twin as he sat down, handing him a cube of energon and offering one to Jazz. “We were hoping you would say that,” he responded, sharing a glance with Sideswipe, his voice hushed so as to not draw the attention of the trial proceeding before them.

Jazz eyed them both suspiciously. “What are you two up to?”

“Us?” Sideswipe gave Jazz an innocent look. “We’re not up to anything.”

“Get the feeling that you’d rather be though,” Sunstreaker added cryptically, his gaze fixed on the court proceedings.

“Go on,” Jazz prompted casually.

Sunstreaker gave his brother a curt, subtle nod as he sipped his energon. Sideswipe smirked and leaned on the back of Jazz’s chair. “One of your former subordinates might have let slip that he believes this is all slag and is just itching to do some investigating of his own, you know, like in the good old cycles.”

Jazz narrowed his optics behind his visor. “So why don’t you go… indulge?” he asked absently, feigning disinterest.

Sideswipe shrugged. “Body guards are supposed to guard the body. Our body is Optimus, where he goes, we go.”

“And if you have someone wanting to help, why haven’t you taken it to the Prime?” Jazz asked giving Sideswipe a sidelong glance.

Letting out a soft laugh, Sideswipe shook his helm. “Rodimus has advisors like Red Alert and you know what he’s like for paranoid. Mech would blow a circuit if Rodimus started hiring spies to do his job.”

Jazz chuckled at that. “Yeah, Red never did like our idea of security, getting the ‘cons’ secrets before they got ours. I think he actually called me an unreliable ‘con berth warmer with a death wish, once. Only the once though. Didn’t know he was working for Rodimus, good for him. Glad he landed on his feet.”

Sunstreaker huffed at that. “He’s just as bad as he was. Doesn’t trust anyone, not even us. You’d think we still had a war on or something.”

“To Red, I don’t think it ever ended,” Sideswipe commented somewhat sadly.

“He’s not the only one,” Jazz replied somberly, earning him matching sympathetic gazes from the twins. “So let me get this straight. You’re coming to me because of my specific skill set?”

Sideswipe gave him a lopsided grin and shook his helm. “Nah, just figured you might be bored enough to want to find out some truth about what all this slag’s about.”

“Like who’s the puppet master,” Sunstreaker stated with a glower. His use of human vernacular sounded all the more menacing when spoken in his low, barely above a growl, timbre.

“You believe that too, huh?”

“Got to be. A gutter mech like Axle couldn’t have wrangled all of this and all these witnesses. Not to mention bribing a judge is likely way above his pay grade.”

Jazz smirked at that. “So where’s the noble glitch, hiding?”

Sideswipe pinged over the location to Jazz’s comm. with a small smile. “He’s expecting you.”

“How did you know I’d be on board?” Jazz asked with mild surprise.

Sunstreaker gave him a rare smile. “Just because a war ends doesn’t mean we stop fighting for our own.”

“Happy hunting,” Sideswipe patted his shoulder and the twins stood as the court adjourned for a recess. Moving over to Optimus, the twins gave both him and Prowl a nod and offered them each an energon cube. Glancing back at where Jazz was sat, Sideswipe smiled to himself to find the seat empty.

****

The former noble peered up at the mech as he entered the detailing parlour and a smirk spread slowly across his face. “I thought you might have killed yourself by now.”

Jazz laughed at the droll comment and gave him a lop sided grin and a shrug. “I had some help to the contrary. I thought you might have slept your way up to Prime by now.”

The laughter was clear and bright as the noble threw back his helm. Clearing the distance between them, he wrapped his arms about the smaller mech and embraced him briefly, ignoring the sudden stiffness gripping his frame. “I have missed your wit, my friend.”

Jazz forced himself to relax with the techniques he’d learnt from Prowl and now Smokescreen. “You’re a sight for sore optics too, ‘Raj,” he pulled back and grinned at the mech. “What trouble have you been stirring up without me?”

“Not enough, evidently,” Mirage replied with humour in his tone. His expression quickly sobered, however and his tone became more serious. “How is Prowl doing?”

Jazz pulled a face and moved to grab a nearby seat. “It’s not been a great orn for him, I’m not going to lie. He’s handling it well… as Prowl handles anything, I suppose.”

Mirage narrowed his optics and perched on a nearby seat. “There was a time when you would have told me the mech felt nothing and was little more than a tactical drone plugging in the numbers of our survival and playing a battle game with our very sparks.”

Ducking his helm, Jazz sighed softly before meeting Mirage’s curious non accusatory gaze. “Time’s change. Mech’s change. Some mechs learn to admit when they were wrong.”

The former noble regarded Jazz with bright appraising optics and gave him a small smile. “It pleases my spark to hear that. So I assume the twins sent you?”

“They suggested,” Jazz chuckled.

“And who are you to turn down such an opportunity, hm?”

“You know me,” Jazz laughed. “So what do you know?”

Canting his helm thoughtfully, Mirage hummed and folded his arms. “It’s less of a what and more of a whom.”

“Come on, ‘Raj, Prowl is on borrowed time here,” Jazz prompted with slight impatience.

Mirage smiled at his former commander. “I am certain he would enjoy the irony of the situation, given how many missions we were sent on with virtually impossible timelines.”

“I’m sure he would if the fragger remembered any of them,” Jazz agreed with a hint of sadness in his voice.

The spy frowned at that. “None of it?”

“Not even who he was, not really. Bits and pieces mostly. He has his old journals, he can piece together the rest.”

“The shuttle accident?”

Jazz nodded. “You should come meet him, I dare say the mech he is now and the company you keep, you would actually get on.”

“We shall see,” Mirage replied with a vaguely sad smile. “As I said regarding his situation. I believe I have the location of one primary missing witness.”

“Axle,” Jazz stated with a low growl.

“The very same,” Mirage confirmed. “Let me guess, you want to pay him a visit, Jazz style?”

A wide cheshire cat grin spread across Jazz’s face. “You know me well, mech, be careful I might have to kill you, you know too much.”

“You can try,” came the tart, amused reply. “Shall we then? If only for old time’s sake?” Mirage gestured to the door.

“Trip down nostalgia road, I’m up for that. Let’s go,” Jazz got up and led the way out of the parlour with his friend by his side. “War or not, it’s been too long, Mirage.”

“It has indeed, my friend. I am sorry I wasn’t around… ”

Jazz held up his hand and shook his helm. “Don’t do that, ‘Raj, you had my back more times than I can remember. Your duty was done. You owe me nothing. It’s time I had your back for a change.”

“And Prowl’s back it would appear.”

Jazz smiled faintly at that. “Yeah well, I think it’s about time someone did. Mech gave more of his spark to the cause than I ever did.”

Mirage paused with bright optics at that statement and simply stared at Jazz. “That is… high praise…I knew nobody more dedicated than you.”

“Well let’s be honest, did any of us really know Prowl? I was dedicated alright. Dedicated to the rush. The thrill of those missions where I got to hand it the ‘cons.”

“That is rather introspective coming from you, Jazz,” Mirage stated with a chuckle.

The black and white huffed a quiet laugh and shrugged. “Ah what can I say? I’m making emotional progress. I blame my therapist.”

****

Prowl wilted in his seat as the court adjourned for the cycle. There had been damning testimonies from former Decepticons and Autobots alike. Some of the Autobots he had never even met personally but they had been under his command during the war. It made his spark ache that he could not remember their faces nor their names and even though official logs corroborated a lot of what they said, the emotional context the witnesses added to his orders made him just want to plead guilty and accept justice.

Optimus however, had had other ideas. He had cross examined each and every witness. Questioning their loyalty, their positions, why they had followed orders, if they enjoyed peace now and if they thought it could have truly been attained had difficult and unpopular decisions and orders not been made. Optimus also had the benefit of remembering most of the major orders Prowl had had to give but some even he wasn’t aware of. That was where the court had recessed. Following a particularly damning report by a former special operations agent. He had been directly under Jazz’s command but had also had to take orders directly from Prowl. His testimony painted a cold sparked, numbers driven commander, who had no empathy for the mechs carrying out his key missions.

The enforcers waited patiently to take Prowl back to his cell. Optimus lightly touched Prowl’s arm. “It’ll be alright, old friend. I will cross examine him next cycle and we will be better prepared.”

“Only Jazz can refute his claims and as you can see, he is no longer present,” Prowl replied softly, gesturing to the mostly empty court room.

“I have it on good authority that Jazz will be back. I have also sent him a comm. asking for his assistance. We can always ask for more time if he is otherwise indisposed.”

Prowl frowned slightly. “Where did you send him?”

Optimus shook his helm. “I have not asked anything of him, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker informed me of his departure earlier. They also assured me that he would be back.”

Unable to stop his doorwings twitching, Prowl vented a sigh. He couldn’t stop the heavy disappointment weighing on his spark. He really couldn’t blame Jazz if he didn’t want to support him. Especially given all he had been through. “Perhaps it is for the best. It would only be called a conflict of interests by the prosecution if he did testify for me, he was my patient after all.”

“That makes him the perfect witness for you,” Optimus stated, trying to reassure his clearly dejected friend.

Prowl shook his helm. “I’m tired, Optimus. Thank you for all of your help,” he declared, nodding to the guards who stepped forward and secured his hands in a pair of stasis cuffs.

Optimus let him leave with dim optics. He recognised a dismissal from Prowl when he heard one. It pained him though to see the Praxian beaten down by the proceedings. Any hope he had developed as a result of his and Rodimus’ help had all but dissipated, exponentially since he had learned of Jazz’s disappearance.

“He’s struggling, isn’t he?”

Smokescreen’s voice broke Optimus’ reverie and the former Prime glanced at the other Praxian and gave him a small nod. “We need Jazz.”

“He might not be willing to testify you know?” Smokescreen pointed out quietly. “He… Prowl put him through a lot back during the war… and Prowl is right, he was his patient.”

“Then who better to testify regarding who and what Prowl is and was?” Optimus asked, rubbing his faceplates wearily. “I have every faith, Jazz would not abandon Prowl in his time of need, not after Prowl was there for him. I just hope he isn’t too late.”


	16. Testimony

Mirage glanced at Jazz across the hall and gave him a nod before he shimmered out of view. He headed to the exit of the building and made his way to the roof.

Jazz waited outside the door of the apartment and noticed some strange markings around the electronic palm scanner. Like it had been tampered with. He frowned at that and pulled out his dagger, holding it out of sight. //In position, ‘Raj?//

//Almost. Climbing down, now.//

Jazz waited, his sharp audios picking up movement inside the apartment. He stiffened as he heard a thud and a soft curse. //’Raj?//

When he received no reply, his patience evaporated and he kicked in the door, foregoing any subtleties he might have once employed. “Mirage?” he stopped in his tracks as the spy appeared in front of him.

“You need to see this,” Mirage stated somberly. “You’re not going to like it.”

Jazz followed the former noble into the backroom where he had entered through a window and his visor brightened at the sight. “Frag me…”

“Someone beat us to it.”

Deflated, Jazz rounded the berth, his expression grim. Axle was spread eagle over the wide berth, his interface components were exposed and severely damaged, as though someone had hacked at them with a blade. His chest was a gaping dark wound, his spark chamber; guttered. Energon was splattered about his frame and his face looked like it had taken a beating.

“This seems… off…” Mirage murmured quietly as he looked around the room.

“No signs of a struggle. I did see some tampering around the entrance key though,” Jazz replied. He crouched down beside the greyed frame and sighed. “This mech holds the key to helping Prowl, this is connected some how, it must be.”

“Perhaps the one pulling the strings?” Mirage suggested, glancing at Jazz.

“Possibly,” he agreed, turning Axle’s face away from him, he frowned at the puncture wound in the back of the mech’s helm. “Fragger was thorough, destroyed his memory, removed the entire thing.”

“What about residual data files?”

Jazz looked up at Mirage. “That’s going to be rough, his last moments will be there.”

Mirage held Jazz’s gaze. “That might be enough, if it shows us who did this.”

“It would be a lead,” Jazz surmised. “I really don’t want to go inside there,” he groaned, perching on the berth. “Prowl better buy me some nice Praxian high grade for this,” he muttered, unfurling his own data cable.

“I’m right here. If you get stuck, I will pull you out,” Mirage reassured, keeping a watch on the door.

“Won’t be long.” Jazz’s visor went dark as he plugged into the offlined mech and hissed as he started to rummage through corrupted and broken data files. Most were fragments due to the mech’s main memory component being forcibly removed but his processor had retained enough information to hopefully be useful. “He hasn’t been offline long…” Jazz murmured out loud as he burrowed deeper. “Corruption isn’t advanced yet. Hang on… think I’ve got something…” Jazz stiffened and gasped, before jerking back sharply, startling Mirage.

“Jazz?” He rushed to his friend’s side as Jazz yanked his cable free and tumbled back off the berth onto the floor and crawled some distance from the berth. “What is it, what did you see?”

“Something I really wish I hadn’t,” he murmured, visibly shaken up. “Nobody’s going to believe this.”

“You saw who did this? Who is it?”

“I’ll tell you on the way, come on, this goes higher up and is closer to our sparks than we ever thought. We’ve got to get back to that trial,” Jazz insisted, allowing Mirage to help him up.

“It can help him?”

“Frag I hope so because I’ve just got a comm from Optimus,” Jazz’s frown deepened. “One of my former ops agents testified against Prowl, he needs me to testify,” his visor dimmed. “Prowl’s running out of time.”

****

“One of your former operatives, painted Commander Prowl as, and I quote, “a cold sparked, drone of a mech who contained absolutely no empathy within his spark for the plight of those he claimed to fight alongside and for,” Optimus paused, gazing at Jazz on the stand. “What do you say about that?”

Jazz vented a soft sigh and shifted slightly, to make himself more comfortable in the seat. “I would say it wouldn’t be far from the truth, from what it seemed anyway.”

“What it seemed?” Optimus enquired with a frown. He had not had time to go over Jazz’s testimony with the mech but he had hoped he would be testifying for Prowl not against him.

Nodding, Jazz glanced briefly at Prowl who was watching him stoically, looking more and more like the impassive commander he used to be. It saddened Jazz to realise that that facade must have been created through the stress and pressure of his position. “Let me explain. Doing the jobs we had to do, during a war, there were fronts you had to portray in order to keep morale. Now I was the face of the party, soldiers knew me, they needed me to be cool and calm and always ready to have a good time, it put them at ease. Now Prowl, well let me just say this, if the mech had ever appeared anything other than in control, I would have been one of the first running for the hills, if you get my meaning, Prime.”

“Could you clarify for the court?” Optimus smiled faintly behind his battle mask.

“Sure. Basically, Prowl had to be a hard aft. He more than probably any of us, barring yourself, Optimus, sent a lot of mechs out to die for the cause. He had to be distant,” Jazz met Prowl’s gaze, detecting the almost imperceptible shimmer of the mech’s pale blue optics. “If he had gotten too emotionally involved the weight of that guilt, of that responsibility would have killed him. Would have crushed any one of us. We did what we had to do to survive. I partied. Prowl cut himself off.”

Optimus nodded in understanding. “With that in mind then, would you say that Prowl in fact did not care?”

Jazz ducked his helm and shook it with a small smile. “I did once, I was wrong.”

While Optimus continued his questioning of Jazz, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker glanced up as a familiar face appeared and slid into the seat beside them. “Hey, Red’, didn’t think you’d be able to get away from the council to be here,” Sideswipe threw him a lopsided grin.

Red Alert ducked his helm a little. “I had to.”

Sunstreaker nodded. “Prowl will appreciate your support,” he lightly patted Red Alert’s arm. “Though I can’t say your boss will be too pleased about your being here.”

Red Alert huffed faintly at that. “Rodimus was the one who urged me to attend, said something about it being important we all stick together.”

“Well he’s got a point, there’s some nasty low lifes who have crawled out of the pits to take Prowl down,” Sideswipe growled softly, his focus back on the court scene before them.

“What have I missed?” Red Alert asked softly, nodding in greeting as Smokescreen and Bluestreak half turned around to acknowledge him.

“Jazz is testifying about whether or not Prowl cared as a commander or if he was as cold sparked as the other testimonies claim.”

“Defamation of character?” Red Alert frowned.

Smokescreen nodded grimly. “They’re trying to tear him down, saying that no matter the changes to his processor the core of the mech, who he is was, remains the same and if he truly didn’t care about soldiers in war then who’s to say he’s not capable of taking advantage of his authority in other areas of his life now.”

“Hence the assault charges,” Red Alert finished soberly. “How is he?”

Bluestreak shook his helm. “He’s exhausted. He’s barely been recharging. I think, he’s convinced he’s going to lose.”

The small group of mechs fell into a heavy silence as Jazz’s voice rolled through the courtroom.

“You think Jazz can convince them?” Red Alert asked with incredulity. “I thought he hated Prowl?”

“He never hated him, professionally they butted helms a lot but, they also worked together more than they worked against each other,” Smokescreen explained. “Ops and intelligence, they go hand in hand.”

Bluestreak nodded in agreement. “Jazz is currently telling Optimus about how Prowl had a secure ops channel just for those sent on lone missions. Only Prowl had access to it and those on particularly difficult missions could contact him at any point in the cycle should they need to. Honestly though, I think Jazz was the only who used it.”

Sideswipe grunted at that. “He was the one who accepted the worst missions. Makes sense.”

“Yeah, I think this can only help Prowl though, Jazz is explaining how he talked him through some particularly bad missions and was a reliable source of strength in a manner that went above and beyond the call of duty,” Bluestreak murmured, a small sad smile gracing his lip plating. “Though, that doesn’t surprise me, especially given what we’ve learned recently.”

“Oh?” Red Alert probed gently, feeling somewhat out of the loop.

Smokescreen smirked a little. “Yeah we discovered a while back that right before the shuttle accident that Prowl was in, he gave Jazz his birthing crystal. He doesn’t remember it but no Praxian would have given their crystal to a mech that they didn’t have feelings towards in some way, never mind Prowl. Jazz was important to him, glitch just couldn’t admit it, too bound by duty.”

Red Alert frowned slightly as he listened to his former comrades talking about Prowl. He had worked fairly closely with the mech and even he hadn’t realised Prowl had had feelings for Jazz. It made no sense to him. He had always admired Prowl but their relationship had never ventured beyond the professional, much to Red Alert’s regret. He wished he had tried harder to get past Prowl’s icy exterior. The mech had clearly been in need of some emotional support if anything from this case and Prowl’s own publicised journals from the war were to be believed. Jazz was certainly not the mech for such a need, Red Alert mused thoughtfully, his gaze drifting over the former special ops mech and Autobot SIC as the prosecution began its cross-examination.

Not needing reminders about his past failures, Red Alert decided it would be best for him to watch the case unfold from afar. He bid the others a quiet farewell, he was quite busy after all and headed back to his office. His horns crackled and flashed blue ever so subtly as he mulled over the past and the current case.  

As Red Alert left the courtroom, Mirage shimmered into view and scowled deeply as he watched the mech leave. With Jazz stuck on the stand there wasn’t much he could do but wait.


	17. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back to haunt Prowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. RL took over ^_^ (also sorry for this...) ^^;;;; longer chapter soon, promise!

“He was here?” Jazz asked tersely.

Mirage nodded. “He asked about the case and then said he had work to do and left.”

Jazz sighed and shook his helm. “It doesn’t make sense, ‘Raj,” he growled out. “I need to speak to Rodimus once the closing statements have been finalised.”

“Losing Axle, really does weaken the prosecution’s case, however… perhaps a guilty verdict wasn’t the end goal?” Mirage suggested thoughtfully.

“I don’t know… whatever it is… I’m not certain it will end once this trial is over.”

Optimus stood up to make his closing statement and placed a hand on Prowl’s back, when the doors to the court room suddenly slammed open and an entire unit of enforcers marched in. Everyone was on their feet in an instant, while the enforcers stopped anyone from leaving their place.

Jazz shared a wary glance with Mirage as Red Alert walked quickly down the centre of the courtroom and over to Rodimus’ side, handing him a datapad. Gritting his denta, Jazz glared at the former security mech, not noticing Rodimus slowly standing as he read the datapad.

“Prime, what is it?” Optimus asked with growing concern.

“They have found Axle’s body. He was murdered,” Rodimus declared with a confused frown and his gaze fell on Jazz. “Jazz, they have a warrant for your arrest… I don’t... understand… how, why?”

“Fragger!” Jazz snarled and launched himself over the seat, ducking and weaving out of the grasp of the enforcers, putting one on his aft with one punch and grabbing another’s weapon as he fought his way to the front. “How could you do this!?”

Shocked cries and hollers of warning reverberated around the chamber as Jazz pointed the stolen weapon directly at Red Alert and screamed at him.

“Why?!”

Mirage had been grabbed before he could vanish and glared defiantly at the front as his hands were secured in stasis cuffs.

“Jazz you were there,” Rodimus continued. “They have proof. What are you talking about?”

“He did this! He’s behind all of this! I just want to know why!” Jazz didn’t take his visor off Red Alert who stared back at him with bright optics, his helm sparking as his stress levels rose.

“What are you talking about, Jazz?” Smokescreen shouted out.

“He is clearly still suffering delusions, Prime, it appears his treatment was unsuccessful, he is paranoid and a danger to himself,” Red Alert murmured quietly to his Prime.

“Frag you! I should kill you right now!” Jazz rushed forward, only for all the enforcers who had dared to come closer to him, to pull out their weapons. Several of them yelling at him to drop his weapon lest they be forced to shoot him.

Red Alert stood in front of Rodimus who was too stunned to speak but his optics flickered and his attention was drawn as another moved to stand in front of Jazz’s weapon calmly.

“Please don’t do this, Jazz.”

Jazz faltered slightly and his intakes hitched at the softly spoken command. “Prowl… this isn’t what you think. I didn’t…”

Prowl nodded and stepped closer until the gun Jazz was holding was pressed up against his chest. “I believe you,” he declared resolutely.

“Don’t try to play therapist with me, Prowl, Red did this. I should kill him, move out of the way! You’re the last person who should defend him!” Jazz snapped, tightening his grip on his weapon.

Shaking his helm, Prowl frowned slightly. “You kill him. Then they’ll kill you and I really would rather that did not happen.”

Jazz met Prowl’s earnest gaze. “I didn’t kill that mech, Prowl. I’m not delusional. Not anymore. You know that. I need you to believe me, trust me.”

“I do,” Prowl reached up and placed his hand over Jazz’s holding the weapon. “I trust you, I always have, that I do remember. Now, I need you to trust me, as you once did. Lower the weapon, Jazz, let them take you. Speak only the truth and justice will be done.”

Struggling with himself, Jazz growled and dropped his hand to his side, letting the weapon fall to the floor with a clatter. Enforcers rushed forward and grabbed Jazz, roughly pulling his arms behind his back as they locked his wrists in stasis cuffs. “Don’t know how you can still believe in the system,” he spoke out to Prowl.

Stepping closer, Prowl placed his hands on Jazz’s shoulders and squeezed them gently. “I believe in you,” he replied with a small smile.

Prowl turned as the enforcers started to lead Jazz and Mirage away and gazed up at Rodimus. “To ensure impartiality, Rodimus, yourself or Optimus should be present when Jazz is questioned,” he stated firmly. His gaze fell on Red Alert whose helm was sparking erratically as he stepped down from the dais. “Red, it’s alright, I don’t pretend to know what he is talking about but you’re safe now.”

Red Alert nodded and gazed at Prowl thoughtfully. “Because you shielded me from him. Thank you,” he answered quietly.

Prowl inclined his helm slightly. “I did not do it for you, Red. Though I am glad you are safe.”

“Ever the martyr,” Red Alert murmured.

Prowl’s optics flickered slightly in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

Red Alert stepped closer, his frame almost flush with Prowl’s slightly smaller one. “Never for me, however,” he added cryptically.

Prowl frowned and opened his mouth to respond only for his voice to cut off with  a sharp  gasp of pain as the whine of an energon blade filled his audios.

“Perhaps now you will notice me,” Red Alert smiled calmly as Prowl looked down at his chest in shock, his trembling hands touching the edges of the fresh gaping wound as Red Alert slowly removed his blade.

Prowl staggered back a few steps, his optics fixed on Red Alert’s smiling face as the mech lowered his hand holding the blade, Prowl’s own life energon dripping onto the courtroom floor as the mech watched him impassively. His voice caught in his vocaliser and he felt himself falling, hands reaching out to grab nothing but air. The blade had punctured his spark chamber and his entire body felt hot then cold. There was no pain, just a numb feeling spreading throughout his frame now wracked with shudders. His intakes became erratic as his vision began to fail and the courtroom erupted into blurry chaos around him. All Prowl could see was Red Alert’s smiling face as all other conscious thoughts faded.


	18. Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now caught up to myself. I have posted everything I have written for this fic. I have my next chapters drafted and hopefully they won't take me too long. Thank you all for being so patient and continuing to read and comment. You all encourage me to write when my brain resists, you are as much a part of the writing process as the writer and I wanted you all to know that.

Voices, he could hear voices. Frantic, angry? Definitely worried. He tried to move, only to find himself paralysed and then panic rushed through him as flashbacks of the last time he had felt like this raced through his processor. A medical berth, pain, his memories fading one by one. No! Not again, he couldn’t go through that again. A whimper filled his audio as the panic overtook his rational thought processes.

First Aid moved quickly as the monitors bleeped wildly and immediately started scanning Prowl’s frame. “He’s partially conscious, though he shouldn’t be.”

“What’s happening?” Smokescreen demanded with concern.

“I think he’s panicking,” First Aid replied, frowning in concentration as he injected a sedative into Prowl’s main fuel line. “It’s alright, Prowl, you’re safe, you need to rest,” he spoke to the non responsive Praxian, in attempt to soothe him. His visor brightened when Prowl let out a whimper, before all his readings levelled out once more and the mech sank back into medical stasis.

“Is he alright?” Smokescreen had moved closer, Bluestreak beside him as they gazed upon Prowl’s frame, riddled with wires connecting him to life support. A machine had been positioned over his open chest, which was helping his spark repair itself using its own energy. It was based upon the knowledge of how bonds worked between mechs. How one mech could potentially save another from spark failure by bonding to him. Smokescreen didn’t pretend to understand the science behind it, he only knew it had been something Ratchet had been working on before he passed and that First Aid had finished and perfected since then.

First Aid straightened and sighed. “He is still not in the clear. His spark was damaged in the attack. Such damage can take a long time and this technology is still relatively new. It works but we have no way of predicting how well it works or how long it takes. There simply isn’t enough data,” he explained gently. “Prowl will live, but I cannot tell you what his quality of life will be like, though I have hope as his spark is strong.”

“Stubborn,” Bluestreak corrected softly. “He always had a stubborn spark,” he smiled faintly, doorwings quivering. “You should go speak to Jazz and the others,” he prompted Smokescreen gently. “I know it’ll help cheer him up given everything else that is going on.”

Smokescreen nodded and patted Prowl’s hand. “Keep being a stubborn aft, you hear me?” he nodded at First Aid and squeezed Bluestreak’s shoulder as he left the room.

****

Ultra Magnus gazed impassively at the mech sat opposite. He seemed calm, collected. It was almost eerie, especially given what he was accused of and what they had subsequently found out in their investigation of him. “Do you understand the charges being made against you?” he felt like he had been repeating this question for several cycles now.

“Yes, of course. Just like the last time you asked me,” Red Alert replied calmly, his helm sparking just once. “It’s almost as though you expect me to turn into some incoherent wreck,” he added with an amused smirk.

“You have refused a psych evaluation,” Ultra Magnus commented with a frown.

“I’m fine.”

“You are unstable,” Ultra Magnus countered quickly. “You have completely dissociated yourself from what you have done and seem to think that playing ignorant, will somehow grant you leniency,” Ultra Magnus sighed. He had no loyalty to this mech. He’d known of him just as he’d known of and occasionally worked with Prowl during the war, before they had left Cybertron. After that however, he knew very little about them. That was why Rodimus had appointed him as lead investigator. He was impartial and unbiased, something that was sorely lacking throughout the entire case. There were a great deal of charged emotions.

“You seem tense, Ultra Magnus? Surely having a competent mech arrested would appease your sense of justice?” Red Alert stated. “What would a psychological evaluation accomplish other than removing the legitimacy of what I have done, lessen its meaning?”

“Lessen its meaning?” Ultra Magnus frowned deeply. “What other meaning could there be other than madness brought on by vorns of war and subsequent lack of reintegration into peacetime society?”

Red Alert’s helm sparked brightly and he canted his helm with a passive smile. “You’re the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, you tell me.”

“Alright,” Ultra Magnus declared, gazing at his datapad. “We have evidence that you murdered Axle. His own retrieved memory files from his offline corpse confirm it. You also attacked Prowl in the middle of the courtroom with an energon blade, stabbing him through the spark, which anyone with half a processor can determine was with intent to deactivate. There were several witnesses to this who have all agreed to testify against you. Upon obtaining a warrant, your home was searched and there we found several datapads, images, vid files with accomplices, as well as several petabytes of data on Prowl himself, going into great detail about what the mech does in his professional and private life. All of this dating back to when the mech transferred you to a different Psychologist for your treatment, after alleged reports of misappropriate behaviour towards him on your part, while he was your primary psychologist. The identified accomplices have since been arrested and have implicated you in the fabrication of assault charges brought against citizen Prowl by Axle, who was also apparently working with you, until you heinously disposed of him in the hopes of covering your tracks,” Ultra Magnus paused and shook his helm. “With the charges of murder, grievous bodily harm with intent to commit murder, conspiracy to subvert the course of justice, corruption, bribery, false accusation, stalking and harassment all being filed against you, you are not looking at the stockades, Red Alert. You are looking at complete defragmentation. A psychological evaluation would determine if all of these acts are the result of mental unrest, rather than actual criminal intent and you are refusing. Therefore I would like to know why you committed all of these acts, what is your motive? May I remind you that if I am not satisfied with your answer I will order a mandatory psych’ evaluation, for I will not be responsible for sending a severely unwell mech to trial and his very likely de-fragmentation, regardless of his self destructive tendencies.”

Red Alert’s smile seemed frozen on his faceplates. “Why? You want to know why?”

Giving the former security mech a curt nod, Ultra Magnus waited expectantly.

“Oh if only everyone saw the world as you do, Ultra Magnus,” Red Alert clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “Why does anyone do anything?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“They believe it to be their only way. They feel it deep in their spark.”

“Just because we feel a thing does not mean that we must do the thing,” Ultra Magnus argued. “Especially when it causes harm to others. That simply tells me you are not of sound mind, if you truly believe that your behaviour is appropriate and Primus forbid, normal.”

Chuckling softly, Red Alert bowed his helm. “It is a lot more normal than you or anyone wants to admit. Have we not just celebrated our first ten vorns of peacetime following a war that ravaged our planet, decimated our species, a war I might add that was started because one mech truly believed and another disagreed?”

“Comparing yourself to Megatron is not going to do you any favours,” Ultra Magnus stated blandly.

“You want to know why? Okay, I’ll tell you. I hope you don’t have any appointments to attend to later,” Red Alert met Ultra Magnus’ questioning gaze. “If you insist upon hearing the full story, then the only place to start is at the beginning and the beginning was a very long time ago.”

****

Jazz slipped into the room silently and hesitated at the door. His spark flip-flopped at the sight of Prowl half hidden by machines and and wires, monitors beeping constantly beside him. The room was dim and empty, Jazz had waited for Smokescreen and Bluestreak, who had kept a vigil by Prowl’s berthside, to fall into recharge. When Prowl had first been taken to the hospital, what seemed like an eternity ago, Jazz had been in custody. Ultra Magnus had questioned him and Mirage extensively but there had been no evidence, other than the security footage showing himself entering Axle’s apartment. Thanks to his pulled memory file and the medic’s autopsy, Jazz had been cleared of any wrongdoing and the next thing he’d known was that Red Alert had been arrested and that Prowl had been rushed into hospital on the verge of deactivation. Smokescreen had filled him in on the rest. “Bet you didn’t plan on being here again,” he stated softly as he gazed at the prone figure.

Moving closer, he looked over Prowl’s frame, half covered by the spark support machine and slowly sat down. Vorns of war, of killing did not prepare him for looking over one of his friends on life support. In a way this was worse. Battles were quick, death usually quicker, this was tantamount to torture. At least for those on the outside looking in.

Taking hold of Prowl’s hand, Jazz held it loosely in both of his own and vented a soft sigh. “I never know what to say when it’s important that I say something,” he started awkwardly, his visor flickering. “You’ll be happy to know that I continued my treatment with Smokescreen, I go once every forty cycles now, just to keep an optic on my processor. So far so good. Got you to thank for most of that. You’re a stubborn aft glitch who just doesn’t know when to quit. Stopped me getting into fights though so I can’t complain too much,” he smiled as he glanced up at Prowl. “Thing is though… I got kinda used to you being around, being available for me to talk to when things got difficult. These last few cycles… it’s been hard I’m not going to lie. I’m not sure what I’ll do if you…” he trailed off, his voice catching. “They said you’re showing improvement, that your spark is getting stronger. These things take time, I know but I’d really appreciate it if you’d hurry the frag up so my spark would stop giving me conniptions when I think about you.”

Jazz looked at the door, picking up voices in the corridor. He relaxed a fraction when the voices moved away. He hadn’t admitted to anyone just how attached he’d become to Prowl. It wasn’t just the history that only he remembered and the lost chance of something that could have been. It was everything Prowl had done and been for him since his treatment had begun. Nobody since Optimus had put themselves on the line for him. When he’d gone awol, nobody had sought him out. He became a non-entity, a ghost of a past no bot wanted to remember. It had taken a mech with no memory and an unmatched stubborn streak to bring Jazz back to the world of the living. Jazz knew he had much to live for still but he also knew that his mental state hung tentatively in the balance as long as Prowl was on life support. He felt ashamed knowing that he would probably give up if he lost Prowl a second time but it didn’t stop the feeling from being any less real. “You have this knack for making yourself invaluable you know that? I never took the time in the past to appreciate what you did for me, but I want that chance now, by Primus, Prowl you better give me that chance. Don’t think I won’t follow you into the well and beat your aft if you walk out on me now.”

“That would probably be extreme.”

Jazz’s helm snapped around at the new voice. “Frag sake, ‘Aid! Did anybody ever tell you it’s dangerous to sneak up on a mech?”

First Aid’s visor brightened and he approached the berth. “Ratchet did all the time,” he replied with amusement.

“He was just as bad as you,” Jazz reminisced with a smile. “So what did you mean by extreme?” he asked, unable to disguise the hope in his voice.

First Aid smiled behind his mask. “Prowl’s spark is strong. He isn’t ready to leave us just yet. Of which I am extremely glad, it would have ruined all my hard work saving him the first time.”

Jazz laughed at that and squeezed Prowl’s hand automatically.

“He’s recovering, Jazz,” First Aid continued softly. “It will take time and he will need support but he is going to be fine.”

Gazing at Prowl’s serene face, Jazz felt his spark pulse harder at First Aid’s words. “You think he can hear me, you know talking to him like this?”

“I don’t know for sure but I believe he can definitely feel your presence and it helps on some level. Especially with spark injuries.”

Jazz nodded at that, holding Prowl’s hand a little more tightly.

“Can I get you anything?” First Aid asked after checking all the monitors.

Shaking his helm, Jazz gave the medic a wan smile. “Nah, would just like to sit with him for a while if that’s okay?”

“Of course, I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” First Aid headed out, pausing at the door and looking back in time to witness Jazz pressing a tender kiss to the back of Prowl’s hand and whispering that he would wait as long as it took. The medic’s spark swelled with hope.


	19. Start of Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultra Magnus ponders what to do with Red Alert. Jazz contemplates a life without Prowl.

Ultra Magnus glanced at the smaller mechs beside him as he gazed silently into the interview room. He’d stepped out after listening to Red Alert’s testimony and was honestly at a loss for how to proceed. Clearly the mech was not of sound processor but was so very lucid and aware of his actions, it made giving a prognosis all the more difficult. “What are your conclusions?” he finally asked the two mechs following a heavy silence.

“It’s complicated,” the orange coloured mech replied softly. He glanced at Smokescreen, “I feel like more time is needed to properly assess him.”

“We don’t have time,” Ultra Magnus replied with a frown.

Smokescreen’s doorwings flicked just once with irritation. “Yeah, we know. Ironically, these sorts of cases, the ones where the patient is almost unrepentant or even unaware of the wrongfulness of their actions, Prowl was better at assessing than I was. He’s hid this for a long time and I think when he first sought treatment with Prowl it was missed because it was overshadowed by his feelings for Prowl and subsequently Red trying to seduce him,” the Praxian rubbed his faceplates. “This is a slag heap of a mess.”

Rung nodded and hummed thoughtfully. “That being said, I do think you are correct in that he does not or perhaps cannot fully accept or comprehend what he has done.”

Canting his helm curiously, Ultra Magnus prompted further, “What do you mean? He confessed and he seems entirely cognizant of the fact that his feelings for Prowl were and are unrequited and that what he’s done since is criminal behaviour.”

“Yes, he understands the letter of the law as do most mechs in his field,” Rung explained patiently. “He does not however acknowledge that what he has done is wrong. For example, when you mentioned his stalking like behaviour, gathering intel on Prowl, he justified it as part of his programming, his function. I have seen that in much older mechs who lived through the functionalist regime. There are not many left now but a number of them suffered from an inability to disconnect from behaviours associated with their original function, no matter how harmful or criminal those behaviours were. He simply does not comprehend that gathering so much data and stalking Prowl all these vorns as wrong and certainly not criminal,” he looked at Ultra Magnus. “From what he said to you, I feel he might even have felt that he was doing it for Prowl’s benefit, especially given Prowl’s previous position as commander of the Autobot army, to a mech with no memory. He quite likely sees what he did as a form of protection, a way to look out for a mech who would not even realise he’s in danger. It doesn’t matter if it was his feelings for Prowl driving the actions, that would have only exacerbated his need to follow and catalogue Prowl’s life.”

Frown deepening, Ultra Magnus looked through the one way window to where Red Alert was sat, gazing back at him steadily as though the mech could see through the mirrored glass. “That does not explain his most recent actions. Axle’s murder, Prowl’s attempted murder. Trying to frame Jazz and Mirage for the aforementioned murder.”

“Well no,” Smokescreen replied quietly. “That part definitely implies he’s suffering from some sort of psychosis. We would need more time to properly assess him like Rung said but his feelings have become corrupted, probably as a result of Prowl’s outright if professional rejection and that combined with his naturally anxious, paranoid mindset has driven him to extreme measures.”

“We do not feel that the prosecution of Prowl was intended to find him guilty,” Rung pointed out. “It was meant to break him, make him feel vulnerable, make him seek help, comfort and I think Red Alert fully intended to be there for Prowl to turn to.”

“Which was why he killed Axle,” Ultra Magnus surmised thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” Smokescreen answered. “That was him covering his tracks, but he couldn’t risk asking anybody else to do it lest the truth be discovered that he’d in fact orchestrated the whole thing. In fact, if Jazz hadn’t found Axle, the case would have probably been thrown out but the doubt over Prowl would have remained.”

“He would not have been able to practise as a psychologist,” Rung added.

“So that was how he was going to make Prowl need to turn for help?” Ultra Magnus asked.

“Yeah, Prowl isn’t the same mech. He’s still the same stubborn aft but losing his memory and then his ability to do the one thing he’s really enjoyed doing, since his recovery, as well as his livelihood, it would have been a tremendously hard blow to his confidence and his mental state,” Smokescreen explained with a sad frown. “He really struggled adjusting when First Aid finally released him from hospital after his rehabilitation.”

“That would have been when Red Alert stepped in no doubt,” Rung continued. “He would have been a steady comforting presence and being constantly there Prowl would have very likely developed feelings for him out of a dependency he wouldn’t have realised was developing.”

“What about the attack on Prowl himself then, in the courtroom?” Ultra Magnus enquired after a few kliks of thoughtful silence.

“Well Red Alert hadn’t counted on one very important factor,” Rung stated, folding his arms.

“What factor?”

Smokescreen glanced up at Ultra Magnus’ question with a small smile. “Jazz. He hadn’t accounted for Jazz’s interference.”

“Because he found Axle,” Ultra Magnus stated with realisation.

“Not only that,” Rung replied, sharing a glance with Smokescreen. “Finding Axle merely meant the truth would be uncovered but what truly caused what I believe to be a complete psychotic break and almost what Red Alert might have considered an escape from reality, is when Prowl stepped between him and Jazz.”

“He declared his trust for Jazz in front of Red and also told Red he hadn’t done it for him,” Smokescreen shook his helm. “After all these vorns, Prowl still hasn’t picked up tact,” he sighed. “Red knew he’d lost everything then. He couldn’t accept it. I still don’t think he can. Usually crimes like this end up in a murder-suicide.”

“I shall ensure that he is placed in a secure psychiatric facility then, under full surveillance and placed as a suicide risk,” Ultra Magnus stated firmly.

“It would be prudent,” Rung nodded. “We have agreed that I will be the primary psychologist testifying in this case too. We don’t want Smokescreen to be accused of bias.”

“Understood, that is the best option,” Ultra Magnus nodded. “Thank you both for your time, you have definitely shed some light on certain facts I was having difficulty reconciling regarding his motives.”

“Sometimes the spark wants what the spark wants,” Smokescreen declared softly.

“And it won’t let anything stand in the way,” Rung agreed. “Not even a mech’s own processor.”

****

“Been quite a few cycles huh?” Jazz commented as his friend sat down with a weary sigh.

“You can say that again,” Mirage replied, waving over the bartender. “That Ultra Magnus is thorough though, I’ll give him that.”

“Can only be a good thing, given how messed up everything got.”

Mirage accepted a tall glass of mid-grade and turned to face Jazz. “Still can’t believe it myself.”

Jazz nodded and stared at his cube of untouched high grade. “I knew Red had a thing for Prowl back on the Ark before we even arrived on Earth. Prowl didn’t have a clue obviously and even if he did, I doubt he would have acted on it back then,” he murmured. “Took Prowl a long time to act on something he wanted for himself, I’ve only learnt that recently though.”

Mirage hummed thoughtfully. “Are you just going to stare at that cube?” he asked incredulously.

Jazz threw him a lopsided grin. “I like to just buy one every now and then now that I’ve finished with my therapy and just look at it. The temptation to drink until I can’t walk is still there but everytime I walk away from a full cube, I consider it a victory.”

“Quite cathartic, I imagine,” Mirage murmured with approval. “I heard the Red’ is going to be locked up in the psychiatric facility probably indefinitely. His trial was a short one,” he commented absently. “I also noticed that you weren’t there.”

“Yeah,” Jazz replied, almost apologetically. “Had more important things to do.”

“And more important mechs to visit no doubt,” Mirage smirked into his cube.

Jazz simply shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.

“How is Prowl?” the former noble prompted, trying a different tact when Jazz didn’t respond.

“‘Aid says he’s recovering. He’s been taken off spark support, only a matter of time now before he wakes up.”

“You don’t seem all too happy about that,” Mirage pointed out with a concerned frown. “What’s on your processor?”

“Just… ah frag it, it’s dumb.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“Jazz vented a sigh and pushed his cube away. “Just not sure how much I’ve deluded myself into thinking the mech is going to want to have anything to do with me now that I’m a former patient and he is no longer required to see me.”

“You’re right, that is dumb,” Mirage declared blandly.

Jazz laughed and glanced at his friend. “Always know just what to say don’t you?” he smirked.

Mirage simply smiled back. “I think you’re worrying pointlessly. Prowl obviously cares about you but he’s going to need time to process everything that has happened. Are you willing to give him that time?”

“Of course. I’m just not sure if Prowl will ever be willing to see me as a potential prospect of something more because he treated me, I definitely don’t want to end up like Red’ pining my life away for a mech that barely knows I exist out of my immediate interactions with him.”

“Do you think Prowl would do that with you now?”

“I don’t know,” Jazz admitted, deflating in his seat. “I’m scared to hope. Hope was what got me sent to him in the first place.”

“Hope is dangerous,” Mirage murmured with understanding. “Perhaps you’re simply in need of a distraction. You were never good at waiting for things to happen.”

“You’ve always known me the best,” Jazz grinned at Mirage, before his gaze fell on the spy’s hand that was resting on his leg. He didn’t feel the revulsion to being touched that he once had. The apprehension was there but it didn’t prompt a violent outburst or flashbacks. Some of his scars would take longer to heal but he trusted Mirage, he always had and the mech was right, he was sorely in need of a good distraction.

“What do you say?” Mirage asked almost coyly, gazing at Jazz.

Jazz looked up, met Mirage’s gaze and smiled.

 


	20. Moving on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone tries to pick up the pieces and move forward.

Jazz had left Mirage’s apartment before the other mech had awoken. He felt guilty. It was a stupid kind of guilt because he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. Spending the dark cycle with Mirage had been merely a distraction, an enjoyable distraction but a needless one nonetheless. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Prowl, from wishing it was Prowl beneath him, moaning his name. The more he thought about it the more guilty he felt. He wasn’t just attracted to Prowl, he wanted him near, admired his strength, determination and even his near aft-headed stubbornness. Jazz wanted all of Prowl and he wasn’t sure when his feelings for the mech had become so pronounced. He wasn’t going to force the issue if Prowl wasn’t interested but it didn’t stop him from hoping. However, while time had passed for him, for Prowl it would feel like no time had passed at all. To Prowl, Jazz would still be his patient and he would still see him as such. Well until he got used to the idea of him not being at least. Jazz hoped. 

When he’d received the comm. call from First Aid, his spark had practically leapt out of his chest but then upon realising where he was and who was wrapped around him, recharging peacefully, the guilt had come rushing back. It was normal on Cybertron to indulge one’s desires this way. That was why Prowl had the job he did. Jazz couldn’t help but wonder if Prowl ever indulged. The twins had hinted as much but they had also been extremely tactful out of respect for Prowl’s privacy. It only served to remind Jazz how little he knew about Prowl now. He wanted that to change. 

He stopped outside the hospital building and looked up. His spark pulsed hard in his chest. Prowl was on the verge of waking up, his readouts had all indicated it. Jazz couldn’t explain his nervousness, he wanted to see Prowl, to hear him speak once again but it caused his spark to flip flop in its casing. “Get a hold of yourself, mech,” he chided himself with mild irritation. “You’re acting like a youngling,” the words reminded him of Prowl and he almost heard them in Prowl’s voice. That made him smile as he stepped into the hospital. 

Arriving at Prowl’s room, he found Optimus, the twins, Soundwave and Hook waiting outside, he gave them a subtle nod before ducking into the room. Bluestreak, Smokescreen and First Aid were already inside. First Aid’s visor brightened when Jazz arrived and he turned back to the monitors. 

“He should be onlining soon,” he stated cheerfully. 

“Will he be alright?” Bluestreak asked with concern. “I mean will his spark be alright?”

First Aid nodded. “He will need to have regular spark check ups for a couple of vorns and he’ll feel weak for a while but his spark is strong. Most of the damage has been healed, there’ll be some scarring but that too in time will fade. He may get residual pain from time to time, especially if he gets stressed so I’m relying on all of you to make sure he keeps to his reduced schedule and actually relaxes,” the medic looked at each one of them pointedly. “No matter how much he protests.”

“I… protest…?” 

All optics stared at the prone mech on the berth and nobody spoke for a long few kliks. 

“You all look like… you’ve seen a ghost….” the voice rasped, cracking from under use. 

First Aid chuckled and double checked the monitors before he adjusted the berth so Prowl could sit up a little better. “We almost were, you gave us quite a scare.”

“If you pull anything like this again, I swear I’m going to kick your aft,” Bluestreak held Prowl’s hand tightly, his doorwings fluttering with unspoken emotion. 

“Yeah, I’m with Blue’ on this one,” Smokescreen grinned. “Once is bad enough, twice you’re just looking for attention.”

Prowl let out a hoarse laugh, his intakes catching, causing him to splutter a little. He graciously accepted the offered medical grade energon from First Aid and sipped it slowly. “Your affections are spark warming,” he smiled weakly. “How long was I out?”

“Too long, mech,” Jazz finally spoke up, standing awkwardly at the foot of the berth. He gave Prowl a small smile his visor glowing softly at him. 

Meeting Jazz’s gaze, Prowl didn’t say anything straight away and simply held his gaze. “What have I missed?” he asked quietly. 

Jazz just watched, as Bluestreak, Smokescreen and First Aid filled Prowl in on what had transpired since his attack. He smiled to himself when he caught Prowl’s optics furtively glancing in his direction more often than not and always flashed the mech a warm smile when Prowl realised he’d been caught looking at him. Jazz could feel there was an unspoken tension between them, things that needed saying but now was not the time, not with Prowl’s multitudes of visitors milling outside of his room. Jazz felt his spark ease somewhat and he backed away towards the door discreetly. He caught Prowl’s gaze one last time and nodded at the mech with an apologetic smile. There would be a time for them, Jazz silently vowed it but right now, Prowl needed his time to recover and process everything that had happened, without Jazz hovering around complicating matters. 

Prowl watched Jazz leave and returned his smile as the mech silently slipped out of his room. Jazz wasn’t a mech for crowds anymore and Prowl understood that. He also knew that Jazz would be back, he had seen it on the mech’s faceplates, in the promise of his smile and softly glowing visor. Prowl felt his spark flutter. He hoped he wouldn’t wait too long. Having narrowly missed out on joining Primus in the well twice now, Prowl had secretly decided - upon seeing Jazz’s face first - when he’d woken up, that he had waited long enough. 

****

“I would recommend against visiting him with all due respect,” the orange mech frowned slightly behind his glasses and canted his helm at his guest. “What do you think you can achieve by it?” he asked gently. 

Prowl shook his helm and frowned. “I just thought maybe I could talk to him, perhaps it would help to know….” 

Rung stepped closer when Prowl trailed off. “Know what? That you’re alive? That may only serve to deepen his psychosis, knowing that the one thing he believed he had control over, he has in fact, failed at completing.” 

Looking up at his fellow psychologist, Prowl’s face pinched with troubled concern. He deflated when Ultra Magnus placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I think Rung is correct,” Ultra Magnus declared steadily. “Red Alert’s grasp of reality has become questionable at best. Knowing that you’re alive could make him more of a threat to himself and to you.”

Doorwings rising sharply on his back before drooping slightly, Prowl vented a sigh. It had been several stellar cycles since he had finally been released from hospital. He was still only working on a part time basis however. He had hoped that in his down time, he’d be able to see Red Alert, having learnt what had happened after the court room.  The reasons behind Red Alert’s actions had also been explained to him but he had struggled to come to terms with them. A mech had held affection for him from back when they had served together during the war and Prowl hadn’t even noticed. It was fairly typical of his past self though, but it didn’t stop the guilt from welling up in his spark. 

“Are you certain nothing can be done?” he finally asked, defeat in his tone. 

Rung’s optics dimmed slightly and he adjusted his lenses. “Red Alert’s neuro-pathways and connections between his memory core and his emotional centre have become corrupted, damaging his base coding. Even a complete defragmentation would result in anomalies that could have serious consequences for him. As it is, he has a reasonably comfortable life here, in this secure facility and this is where he will spend the rest of his life,” the mech sighed softly. “He will be rehabilitated to a degree but a break as severe as his, has been a long time building and the signs went unchecked for too long. Most of the damage is, I’m afraid, permanent.” 

Nodding, Prowl pushed up from his seat. “It was always Ratchet that had kept an optic on him back on the Ark, I guess after the war, he just…”

“Fell through the cracks,” Rung finished sadly. “Prowl, you cannot save them all.”

Giving Rung a thin, sad smile, Prowl nodded and headed for the door. “Thank you for your time, Dr.” 

Ultra Magnus politely nodded to Rung and followed Prowl out. “I am sorry the outcome was not what you desired.”

Prowl glanced up at the taller mech. “I had hoped. I am glad that he is at least well taken care of and in a safe place.”

Nodding with agreement, Ultra Magnus stepped onto the elevator with Prowl. “What will you do now?” 

“I had hoped to return to my life as simple as it was, I was starting to enjoy it,” Prowl smiled wryly. “Smokescreen is insisting that I still require recuperation.”

Ultra Magnus hummed deeply. “I believe he said there’s no such thing as too much.”

“He would,” Prowl huffed with an amused smirk. 

Both mechs stepped off the elevator and Ultra Magnus turned to the smaller mech with a subtle smile. “I am satisfied with the outcome of this investigation. I hope we meet again, under better circumstances.”

Prowl bowed his helm graciously with a smile of his own. “Thank you for everything you have done, Magnus. I am truly grateful. Please comm. me if there’s anything I can help you with in the future.”

“I shall bear it in mind.”

With that, Ultra Magnus marched onto the street and headed to his transport shuttle. Prowl watched him leave before, leaning on his cane and starting his slow walk to the public transport. The cane was more for First Aid’s and Smokescreen’s peace of mind, it aided his walking so he wasn’t exerting himself too much and contained a small device that First Aid had fashioned, built for the purpose of jump starting a spark should the unfortunate need ever arise. Prowl however, had been surprisingly pliant as a patient and more than agreeable as an outpatient. He had made a special effort not to exert himself until his spark had fully healed. It was more or less there now but the cane helped to stave off any nagging he would otherwise be subjected to. 

The transport to Praxus was short, thankfully. Prowl had plans to sit in his favourite cafe and read his bookfile for a while, before catching up on some patient notes. He was honestly enjoying the free time to relax. It felt like he hadn’t in many vorns. It had been difficult at first, he had felt compelled to be always doing something but he had gradually warmed to the idea and now wasn’t certain he would ever work full time again. He smiled to himself with amusement, he was even making internal jokes now. 

The femme at the counter waved at him cheerfully when he entered and set about preparing his usual order. Prowl settled into his favourite booth, bathed in the light of the Cybertronian sun and pulled out his bookfile. He read for a little while, taking a sip of his warm drink, when a shadow fell over his table. 

“This seat taken?” 

Looking up, Prowl smiled and put down the datapad, gesturing to the seat opposite. “It is now.”

Sliding into the seat, Jazz gave him a lop-sided grin. “Reading something good? Not work related I hope?” 

“Actually no, for a change, it is a thriller crime novel.”

“Would have figured you’d be done with thrills and crimes for one lifetime,” Jazz chuckled softly. “But you never did know when to switch off.”

“I have,” Prowl smiled demurely. “When the occasion calls for it.”

Jazz ducked his helm with a laugh. “It’s been awhile, sorry I haven’t called.” 

“It’s alright, completing one’s therapy is a cause for getting out and seeing the world and reminding yourself why you’re alive. Did you enjoy your time, travelling?” 

“Yeah, Cybetron is looking pretty nice right now. I had forgotten what a lot of it had looked like without fighting. Gave me a lot of time to think while I was enjoying the sights too.”

“Oh? Any revelations?” Prowl asked curiously. 

“Some,” Jazz responded simply. 

They fell into amicable silence for a few kliks, before both of them tried to talk at once. “Apologies, please,” Prowl insisted. 

Jazz pulled out a box and placed it on the table. “I thought, since I’ve been therapy free for quite some time now and after half a vorn without me annoying you every other cycle, you can’t still consider me a patient.”

“Jazz, I have always considered you a friend, even if I don’t remember that I have,” Prowl replied, dead-pan. 

Snickering, Jazz lightly swatted Prowl’s arm. “Anyway, given that fact, I thought maybe… you know….?” he opened the box to reveal a deep cerulean crystal. 

Prowl gazed at it, recognition stirring in the back of his processor, just as it had done the first time Jazz had shown it to him. A familiarity that he couldn’t remember and yet knew existed. 

“We could see how things go?” Jazz asked hesitantly. “I know it’s sorta out of the blue after half a vorn but--”

“--Alright.”

Cut off, Jazz’s visor flickered and brightened. “Really?”

“I would like the chance to explore the possibilities, yes.”

“That’s such a Prowl answer,” Jazz laughed. 

“Did you expect anything less?” 

“Never.”

Prowl subspaced his datapad and stood, picking up his cane. “I was planning on taking a walk through the new Crystal Gardens if you would join me?”

A bright smile spread across Jazz’s face. “Would love to,” he followed Prowl out of the cafe and stopped when Prowl turned to face him. “What? You forget something?”

“Yes, there’s something I needed to do,” Prowl declared awkwardly. 

Jazz tried to hide his disappoint and looked down at the floor. “Well another time the-- I wha?”  he caught himself when Prowl lifted his helm with a finger beneath his chin. 

“Something I wanted to reply to,” Prowl continued softly. 

Jazz’s intakes hitched and skipped as Prowl’s lips shyly brushed against his own, before pressing into his with a chaste kiss, that sent tingles racing through his sensor net. When the kiss broke, both mechs simply smiled at each other and started walking towards the gardens. After a few kliks, Jazz slipped his hand into Prowl’s and intertwined their fingers as though they had always belonged there. 

“I heard you made a lot of positive progress in your therapy,” Prowl commented casually as they walked. 

Jazz laughed and squeezed his hand. “Do you ever switch off, mech, you know and not think about work?” 

Smiling warmly as he gave Jazz a sidelong glance, Prowl’s doorwings fluttered. “I am starting to… now I have a reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays everyone. Thank you for joining me in this journey. You've been great ^_^


End file.
